MARTYRS  OF 


MARTYRS   OF   EMPIRE 


MARTYRS   OF   EMPIRE 


OR 


DINKINBAR 


BY 


HERBERT  C.  McILWAINE 

AUTHOR    OF     "THE   TWILIGHT    REEF " 


R.  F.  FENNO   &    COMPANY      :         :      9  and  1 1   EAST 
SIXTEENTH    STREET        :         :       NEW   YORK   CITY 

ARCHIBALD  CONSTABLE  &  CO.,  2  WHITEHALL  GARDENS,  WESTMINSTER 

1899 


Copyright,  1899 

BY 

R.  P.  FKNNO  &  COMPANY 


Martyrs  of  Empire 


Contents 


CHAPTER   I 

PAGE 

The  Bush  from  Without J 

CHAPTER   II 
The  Bush  from  Within 23 

CHAPTER   III 
A  Horseman  and  His  Herd 42 

CHAPTER   IV 
The  Spirit  of  the  Pioneers  .  .        .       66 

CHAPTER   V 
Going  a-Milking 8l 

CHAPTER   VI 

The  Tyranny  of  Trifles ioo 

v 


999 


CONTENTS 
CHAPTER  VII 

FAGI 

Sunday  on  Dinkinbar       ,        •        .        ,        .        .in 

CHAPTER  VIII 

A   BUCKJUMPING  .«••••••       I33 

CHAPTER   IX 
Afternoon  Tea 144 

CHAPTER   X 
Susie's  Letter .168 

CHAPTER  XI 

Colonial  Experience         .        .        .        ,        ,        .180 

CHAPTER   XII 
Where  Races  Meet 195 

CHAPTER  XIII 

In  Time  of  Drought         .        .        .        •        .        .     209 

vi 


CONTENTS 
CHAPTER   XIV 

PAGE 

God  Sent  His  Messenger         .        .        .        .        .219 

CHAPTER   XV 
A  Humble  Remonstrance 228 

CHAPTER  XVI 
A  Day's  Mustering 245 

CHAPTER   XVII 
Martyrs  of  Empire 268 

CHAPTER   XVIII 
At  the  Cross-Roads  Again 289 


Vll 


CHAPTER   I 
The  Bush  from  Without 

A  YOUNG  man  and  a  maiden  sat  facing  one 
another  across  depleted  breakfast  things 
The  girl  had  both  elbows  on  the  table,  and  the 
nails  of  one  uplifted  hand  were  idly  busy  about 
the  palm  of  the  other,  also  raised  and  spread 
out  flat.  The  swift,  squirrel-like,  but  totally  un- 
objectionable little  movements  of  the  fingers  gave 
evidence  of  a  plentiful  supply  of  that  random 
energy  of  youth  which  in  the  less  dainty  leads 
occasionally  to  nail-biting — and  worse.  As  she 
bent  aside  and  forward  and  looked  round  her 
hands,  there  was  a  welcome  in  the  eyes  and  a 
fervent  curiosity  in  the  parted  lips  and  the  three 
white  teeth  laid  lightly  on  the  under  lip.  Asked 
to  describe  her,  women — most  women — would 
have  looked  shrewdly  at  the  knot  of  her  hair  and 
the  set  of  her  clothes  and  fastenings,  and  have 
cast  about  for  a  word  that  savoured  of  trimness 


DINKINBAR 

and  untidiness  in  equal  mixture ;  men — all  mas- 
culine men — would  have  seen  the  hands  and  face 
and  ignored  all  else,  and  have  said  that  she 
would  lend  grace  inimitable  to  a  flour-sack. 

Men  again,  most  men,  would  have  said  that  the 
young  man  at  whom  she  was  gazing  thus  might 
be  a  good  enough  fellow  if  he  would  wear  his 
hair  shorter,  do  away  with  that  studious  disorder 
of  silk  necktie,  and  cease  endeavouring  to  catch 
sight  of  his  reflection  in  the  black  marble  fireplace 
behind  the  girl's  shoulder — and  it  that  manly- 
looking  touch  of  tan  upon  his  face  were  not 
manifestly  merely  skin-deep.  Women,  on  the 
other  hand,  unmarried  or  ill-married  —  these 
mostly — would  likely  enough  have  done  as  his 
sister  was  doing,  and  have  regarded  him  with 
submissive  adoration. 

"  Tell  me,  Jim,  all  about  the  place  and  what 
it's  like  ;  you  came  late  last  night,  and  I  couldn't 
sleep  for  thinking  of  all  you  had  to  say.  You 
have  been  away  a  year  almost.  And  now  during 
breakfast  the  mater  has  kept  you  on  the  pro- 
prieties and  your  health.  You've  been  far,  far 
away  beyond  all  the  tame  things  like  cabs,  and 
drapers'  shops,  and  lectures,  and  all  that  ?  " 

He  tipped  his  cigarette  ash  delicately  into  the 
slop-basin  with  his  right  hand,  folded  the  fingers 
of  his  left,   and   frowned  judicially   at  his   nails. 

2 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHOUT 

Then  he  looked  at  the  ceiling,  inhaled  a  mouth- 
ful of  smoke,  and  sent  it  out  thoughtfully  and 
luxuriously  in  an  upward  blast.  A  pellet  of 
bread  his  sister  had  aimed  at  a  fly  in  the  centre 
of  the  table  struck  him  on  the  neck. 

"  It's  a  large  order,  Susie,  and  you're  in  the 
kind  of  hurry  that  drives  a  man  dumb  if  he  is 
any  way  careful  about  his  phraseology,"  he  said, 
looking  at  her. 

She  clenched  her  fist  as  women  and  other  non- 
boxers  do,  with  the  thumb  imprisoned,  and 
thumped  it  three  times  smartly  on  the  table, 
making  the  breakfast  things  jump.  "  Oh,  bother 
your  phraseology  !     Start  at  once." 

"  Where  shall  I  begin  ? " 

"  At  the  beginning,  and  go  on  for  weeks. 
Oh,"  she  rolled  her  head  distractedly,  "pity  the 
eaglet,  or  the  pullet  that  thinks  she's  an  eaglet, 
in  the  barnyard,  hungry  for  the  crags  and  the 
empyrean — that's  rather  fine,  isn't  it !  But — 
what  shall  I  say  ? — '  The  Song  of  the  Open 
Road,'  that's  what's  in  me,  and  I  want  to  know 
about  the  big,  big  world."  She  knit  her  hands, 
and  planted  them  firmly  in  her  lap.  "  What  is 
it  all  like — the  Australian  Bush  ?  Your  letters 
amounted  to  just  nothing  at  all." 

He  smiled  indulgently.  "  Now  you're  talking  ; 
that  narrows  the  question  down  to  a  single   con- 

3 


DINKINBAR 

tinent  anyway.  Oh,"  he  said  grandly,  "yes.  It's 
fine,  and  large,  and  free,  and " 

Her  ringers  were  busy  again.  She  gave  a 
deep-chested  "  Ah-h  !  And  wild,  Jim,  with  lots 
of  daring." 

His  eyebrows  implied  a  shrug.  "  Yes,  and 
wild — oh  yes.  Not  with  the  Red  Indian,  Feni- 
more  Cooper  wildness,  perhaps,  where  the  men 
never  hoed  their  potato  patches,  or  attended 
public  worship,  unless  they  had  the  trusty  rifle 
within  reach  ;  that's  over,  so  far  as  I  could  learn 
— what  there  was  of  it.  But  there's  everlasting 
war  with  Nature  to  keep  one's  flocks  and  herds 
together,  if  not  for  the  possession  of  one's  scalp ; 
and  there's  a  fine  primeval  crudity  about  that." 

"  Yes.  And  that  makes  the  people  plain,  and 
simple,  and  kind,  and  placid  like  their  own  cattle, 
eh  ?  Of  course  there  are  no  creeds,  or  fashions, 
or  social  problems,  or  competition,  or — or  intellec- 
tual maggots  of  any  sort  to  set  people  disputing 
about  what  nobody  can  possibly  know  anything 
of.  How  splendid  !"  She  had  checked  off  the 
curses  of  enlightenment  on  her  finger-tips,  and 
now  she  spread  out  both  hands  towards  him 
exultingly  for  his  approval. 

He  fidgeted.  "  Look  here,  Susie.  Am  I 
starting,  by  special  request,  to  give  you  my 
notions  of  the  Bush  after  six  months'  sojourn  in 

4 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHOUT 

it ;  or  am  I  laid  on  as  a  kind  of  stage  chorus  to 
endorse  the  conclusions  of  your  inexperience  with 
enthusiasm  ?  " 

She  ran  round  the  table,  flung  her  arms  about 
his  neck  and  kissed  him  three  times  in  different 
places,  then  took  his  cigarette  and  put  it  tenderly 
between  his  lips  on  the  left,  or  wrong,  side. 
"  There !  "  she  said  coaxingly,  putting  her  head 
against  his,  rocking  him  softly  from  side  to  side 
and  patting  his  cheek ;  "  it  shall  tell  its  story  in 
its  own  pretty  way,  the  pet.  But  I'm  just  that 
glad  to  see  you  back  again,  Jim  dear.  And  I've 
had  no  one  to  hug  while  you  were  away — the 
mater  doesn't  encourage  hugging.  And  I'm  so 
hungry  to  hear  about  your  adventures  that  I  can't 
stop  talking."  She  shook  him  by  the  shoulders 
and  went  back  to  her  place. 

He  shifted  his  cigarette ;  her  impulsiveness 
had  rendered  him  more  judicial,  and  he  chose  his 
words  with  even  greater  delicacy  than  before. 
"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  there's  all  that  —  that 
primordial  crudity,  if  you  like  ;  and  all  manner  of 
patriarchal  simplicity — that  is,  if  a  man  does  the 
thing  thoroughly.  And  " — he  laughed,  but  not 
quite  comfortably — "  our  excellent  Uncle  Joseph 
sees  that  everybody  on  his  cattle-run  is  what  he 
calls  '  thorough,'  or  else  quits." 

"  Ah,  Uncle  Joseph  ?     I  remember  him  when 

5 


DINKINBAR 

lie  came  over  to  marry  Aunt  Martha,  as  my  first 
and  only  love.  It  was  the  mighty  way  he  carried 
me  on  his  shoulder  and  petted  me  in  my  tantrums. 
What  is  he  like  now  ?  " 

Jim's  eyebrows  lifted  faintly.  "  Uncle  Joseph 
is  thorough,  to  his  boots  —  even  including 
them." 

"Jim.  You  don't  like  him.  Now,  why;  if  he 
has  lived  this  glorious,  simple  life  ?  " 

"  I  never  said  I  didn't;  and  since  the  uncle  and 
aunt  are  in  London,  having  come  home  in  the 
ship  that  brought  me,  and  considering  that  you'll 
see  them  this  afternoon,  you  must  judge  for  your- 
self. Meantime,  we  are  on  the  spaciousness  and 
simplicity  aforesaid.  And  you're  under  bond  not 
to  meddle  with  my  way  of  telling  my  adventures, 
as  you  call  them." 

She  knit  her  hands  in  her  lap.  "  Go  on,  Jim, 
darling.      But  you  don't  like  Uncle  Joseph." 

He  blew  another  cloud  thoughtfully  towards 
the  ceiling.  "It's  as  spacious,"  he  began,  "as 
the  ocean,  and  as  simple  as  drinking  tea,  which 
they  do  in  the  Bush  at  every  meal,  and  between- 
whiles.  In  fact,  the  similarity  of  the  sea  to  the 
Bush,  and  the  sailor  to  the  Bushman,  and  life 
before  the  mast  to  the  life  of  the  normal  Bush- 
worker  in  the  Never-never,  or  Back-blocks — by 
which  is  signified  that  territory  not- as  yet  wholly 

6 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHOUT 

degraded  by  civilization — the  similarity,  I  say,  is 
striking." 

"Oh,  Jim,  how  clever " 

"  Silence!"  said  Jim  sternly.  "I'm  gathering 
the  fruit  of  much  thought  and  observation,  and 
must  be  left  uninterrupted.  Very  well.  The  sea 
is  the  sport  and  playground  of  the  elements,  so's 
the  Bush  ;  the  sailor  is  the  man  what  fights  'em, 
so's  the  Bushman.  They're  wide  and  wild,  are 
the  sea  and  the  Bush  ;  and  wild  are  the  men  that 
go  down  to  them  in  ships  and  on  horseback.  But 
then  there's  more  to  follow.  Your  sailor  has 
Nature's  choicest  picture-book,  as  wide  as  the 
world,  open  at  his  elbow  all  the  day  and  night ; 
but  he  lives  in  a  stinking  fo'c'sle  on  food  with 
the  trail  of  the  cockroaches  over  it  all,  that  would 
ruin  the  digestion  of  anything  but  an  ostrich  or  a 
burning  fiery  furnace.  By  night  fleas,  and  worse, 
have  him  in  their  keeping  ;  and  rats,  who  indulge 
in  hurdle-races  over  him,  with  his  countenance 
for  a  take-off." 

"Jim,  Jim  !      Not  in  the  Bush — it's  hideous — " 

"But  true!  In  the  Bush — in  the  Back-blocks, 
I  mean — there's  Nature  at  her  weirdest  and  wild- 
est right  at  your  doorstep ;  cockroach-legs  in 
your  tea ;  maggots,  as  like  as  not,  in  your  beef — 
if  you  get  'em  once,  which  you're  bound  to,  you 
live  in  horror  ever  after — and   ants  !      Ants   of 

7 


DINKINBAR 

every  inconceivable  variety,  but  chiefly  black  and 
iny,  fanatically  reckless  of  their  lives,  and  simply 
of  hellish  industry  in  making  themselves  disagree- 
able. They  send  out  skirmishers  by  the  ten 
thousand,  followed  by  n  llions  in  procession  ;  and 
they're  in  and  over  everything,  including  your 
food  and  your  blankets,  and  occasionally  your 
ears.  There's  a  variety  of  ant  to  make  existence 
intolerable  everywhere  du-  ing  each  one  of  the 
twenty-four  hours.  Then  fiie ;,  mosquitoes,  spiders, 
scorpions,  snakes  in  season,  and  innumerable  sun- 
dries of  a  like  order.  The  Bush  is  a  Whiteley's 
emporium  of  maddening  pests." 

"  O  Jim,  but  this  is  awful !  And  can't  you 
keep  all  these  wild  beasts  in  check  somehow  ?  " 

"  You  can.  A  bus  horse  can  pull  his  bus  about 
for  a  couple  of  years,  by  which  time  he's  due  at 
the  knacker's.  I  should  say  Bush  people,  Bush 
housewives  more  particularly,  would  not  be  long- 
lived — not  if  they're  'thorough,'  and  cursed  with 
anything  in  the  shape  of  nerves. 

"  Now,  if  I  have  made  myself  at  all  clear,  so 
far,"  he  went  on  with  the  contained  enthusiasm  of 
the  lecturer,  "  I  shall  not  have  much  difficulty  in 
persuading  you  that  when  one's  skin  is  on  fire,  and 
one's  nerves  are  on  the  rack,  owing  to  these  seven- 
and-seventy  plagues — not  to  mention  that  the 
food  very  soon  turns  what  is  left  of  one's  digestion 

8 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHOUT 

into  a  nightmare  factory,  working  double  tides — 
one's  appreciation  of  the  spaciousness,  etc.,  is  apt, 
to  put  it  mildly,  to  get  dulled.  If  you  gave  a  man 
a  stall  for  a  crack  play,  for  instance,  on  the  one 
condition  that  he  should; attend  the  theatre  with 
his1  under-things  plentifully  bestrewn  with  cow- 
itch,  what  sort  of  account  do  you  suppose  he 
would  give  of  the  acting?" 

She  smiled,  but  re  ther  forlornly ;  the  light  had 
gone  out  of  her  gaiety,  and  her  hands  were  lying 
idly  in  her  lap.  He  apparently  heeded  only  his 
own  periods,  which  came  the  freer  for  her 
silence. 

"  A  word  more,"  he  continued,  "and  there's  the 
matter  in  a  nutshell.  With  the  sailor  and  the 
Bushman,  the  ever-present  and  inevitable  is  the 
cow-itch  in  his  shirt — which  is  the  insects  and  the 
raw,  rude  drudgery  of  his  work,  a  never-ending 
war  with  Nature  and  all  her  pests.  Now,  the 
sailor  or  the  Back-blocksman  who  goes  through 
with  that,  and  grows  to  look  upon  it  as  filling  the 
bill  of  his  desire  for  employment  of  his  head  and 
hands — why,  he  needs  a  nervous  system  of  rope- 
yarn  or  raw-hide.  And  what  sort  of  brain  do 
you  suppose  there  will  be  at  the  back  of  such 
nerves  ?  " 

She  was  picking  dejectedly  at  the  hem  of  the 
table-cloth,  and  said  wearily  and  without  raising 

9 


DINKINBAR 

her  eyes,  "  You  mean  he's  a  brute,  of  course,  and 
that  the  Bush  after  all  is  only  a — a " 

"  Is  only,  from  the  standpoint  of  even  ordinary 
sensibility  and  intelligence,  a  physical,  moral, 
and  social  swamp  ?  I  deeply  regret  to  say 
that  I  do.  But  be  not  cast  down,  sister  mine. 
These  are  only  generalities  with  which  I  felt  con- 
strained to  lead  off.  At  sea  and  in  the  Bush  there's 
to  be  found  occasionally  such  a  person  as  the 
intelligent  passenger  and  the  enlightened  visitor. 
That's  me  in  both  cases.  I'm  stored  right  to  the 
muzzle  with  most  entrancing  detail  and  local 
colour,  and  characteristic  turns  of  expression — 
most  of  'em  pretty  strong — and  stirring  pictures 
from  the  wilds.  There's  rousing  copy  in  it,  Susie, 
when  I  can  get  at  it." 

"  Copy,"  she  repeated,  absently,  but  doubtfully, 
"  oh,  copy.  I  suppose  you  people  of  the  literary 
turn  must  find  sermons  in  everything  and  copy  in 
the  Bush,  even  when  you  hate  it — no,  no  !  let  me 
finish!"  and  she  held  up  her  hand  pleadingly 
before  one  of  his  superior  shrugs  and  a  tilting 
of  his  head  that  signified  a  hopelessness  of  the 
feminine  understanding  of  questions  in  the  large — 
"  I  don't  understand  these  things,  and  we  won't 
argue.  But  you've  frightened  me,  Jim.  If  the 
Bush  is  such  a  piggy  place  and  makes  such  brutes 
of  men,  what  about  poor  old  Ned  being  all  these 

10 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHOUT 

years — it's  seven  now — under  rough  Uncle  Joseph? 
You  hardly  mentioned  him  when  you  wrote." 

"  Ned  ?  Oh  !  Well,  Ned's  grown  broad  and 
hard- handed  ;  and  he  can  do  all  that  may  become 
a  Bushman,  do  it  well — ride  like  a  centaur,  fell 
trees  and  bullocks,  and— kill  and  skin  and  eat  'em 
too.     Yes,  Ned's  becoming  'thorough.'" 

She  was  watching  him  with  a  clouding  face, 
"  You  mean  he's  grown  big  and  brave,  but  wild 
and  piggy.     Jim,  why  didn't  you  bring  him  away  ?" 

He  laughed  delightedly.  "  If  you  hunted  the 
round  world,  I  should  say  you  couldn't  light  on  a 
job  to  suit  Ned  better,  unless  you  found  some- 
thing more  wild  and  weird.  Fancy  him  in  any 
trade,  profession  or  calling  with  pens  and  paper 
to  it,  and  pews  ;  or  even  in  a  place  where  bed- 
linen  and  roofs  and  carpets  were  considered  as 
necessary  to  salvation  from  agonies  of  discomfort. 
Never  no  more  for  Ned." 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Jim  was  choosing 
another  cigarette  with  great  nicety.  "  Ned,"  he 
continued,  as  he  felt  among  his  pockets  for  a 
match,  "  is  a  beautiful  study  in  degeneracy,  and 
illustrates  the  pains  and  penalties  that  are  attached 
to  a  sliding  down  the  balusters,  backways,  towards 
the  primevals,  where  our  forefathers  came  from, 
instead  of  getting  upstairs  towards — well,  the  other 
thing,  even  if  it  isn't  celestial.      But  there  you  are. 

ii 


DINKINBAR 

Some  of  us  have  got  to  grow  beef  and  cabbages 
to  make  brains  for  the  rest ;  only  I  don't  take 
kindly  to  the  hoe  and  the  chopper  myself.  But 
Ned's  built  for  it.  And  besides,  there  are  Uncle 
Joseph's  broad  acres — or  miles,  as  they  reckon 
them  out  there — of  land,  and  his  herds,  wanting 
an  heir,  and  it  struck  me  that  Ned  was  about  cut 
out  for  that  honour,  and  that  Uncle  was  dis- 
posed to  smile  upon  his  chances." 

Susie  looked  at  her  folded  fingers,  and  there 
was  the  faintest  trembling  along  the  line  of  her 
chin ;  but  before  either  spoke  again  the  door 
opened  slowly,  and  Mrs.  Thynne  came  in.  She 
stood  mildly  wrinkling  her  smooth  face  at  sight 
and  smell  of  the  smoke. 

"Jim,  dear!  Smoking!  And  the  breakfast 
things  not  cleared  away."  She  looked  feebly 
round  the  curtains,  rang  the  bell,  sat  down  on  the 
sofa  far  away  from  her  offspring,  and  eyed  them 
in  turn  with  an  air  of  helpless  protest. 

Tim  blew  a  series  of  rin^s  before  he  answered. 
"  I'm  sorry,  mater.  It's  colonial  to  smoke  every- 
where, and  nearly  always." 

She  nodded  slowly,  more  in  resignation  than  in 
acquiescence.  "  Very  well,  James  ;  and  I  suppose 
your  dear  Uncle  Joseph  smokes  ?  " 

"  Dear  Uncle  Joseph,  if  I'm  any  judge,  smokes 
everywhere,  even  in  bed." 

12 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHOUT 

"  Jim,"  Mrs.  Thynne  said,  appealing  to  her 
son's  clemency,  as  if  that  were  as  near  as  she 
would  venture  to  command,  "you  won't — you 
haven't  quarrelled  with  Uncle  Joseph  ?  You'll 
show  him  respect,  won't  you,  dear  ? "  She 
smoothed  her  skirts  complacently.  "  He's  well 
off,  and  childless." 

"  My  dear  mater,"  said  Jim,  with  extreme 
frankness  and  simplicity,  "  I  have  lived  with  dear 
Uncle  Joseph  for  a  year,  and  travelled  with  him 
for  six  weeks  and  more,  and  we  are  on  the  very 
politest  terms,  I  assure  you." 

Mrs.  Thynne  sighed  in  relief.  "  That's  a  good 
son,"  she  said. 

Susie  pushed  back  her  chair  and  rose  suddenly 
with  the  manner  of  one  who  remembers  a  forgot- 
ten errand.  "  I'm  going  out,  mater.  Oh,  I  shall 
be  in  heaps  of  time  for  lunch  and  Uncle  Joseph," 
she  added,  foreseeing  obstacles,  and  left  the  room. 

She  was  ordinary  enough,  this  young  woman, 
in  that  she  was  ever  ready  to  cast  herself  cheer- 
fully upon  the  fitful  current  of  her  impulses  ;  and 
only  singular  in  that  an  obedient  parent  and  an 
otherwise  commodious  environment  left  her  free 
to  do  so  to  an  extent  not  commonly  enjoyed  by 
the  girl  of  even  considerable  advancement.  So 
that,  when  Susie  Thynne  hurried  on  outdoor 
things  by  the  help  of  only  few  and  fleeting  refer- 

13 


DINKINBAR 

ences  to  the  mirror,  and  waited  on  the  stairs  for 
an  opportunity  that  she  might  set  out  uncate- 
chised,  she  had,  in  obeying  the  impulse  of  a 
moment  ago,  merely  brought  herself  into  a  usual 
and  congenial  frame  of  mind.  For  her  there 
was  crisis  in  the  air ;  but  then  the  sense  of  im- 
pending crisis  in  their  affairs  is  to  many  the 
necessary  daily  portion.  She  was  flighty,  there 
was  no  denying  it,  and  ravenous  of  experience  ; 
one  of  those  in  whom,  until  the  normal  is 
accepted  for  better  or  for  worse,  intention  still 
outruns  the  laggard  purpose.  She  was  ranked 
among  her  contemporaries  as  a  kind  of  privileged 
vagrant,  a  gipsy  among  workers ;  at  times — for 
she  had  her  moods  of  intensity  and  gloom — a 
martyr  without  a  cause.  No  plodder  herself, 
she  was  the  darling  of  sundry  undistinguished 
plodders  in  every  lighter  line  of  feminine  activity, 
from  type-writing  to  tale-writing,  and  from  the 
re-touching  of  negatives  to  portrait-painting. 
Something  of  a  hare  among  tortoises,  she  saw 
the  end  while  her  fellows  toiled  upon  the  way 
to  it ;  she  would  go  a  stage  with  them,  putting 
new  vigour  into  their  stride,  but  finding  the  road 
too  dull,  the  pace  too  slow,  and  the  end  unworthy, 
for  herself — in  other  words,  and  in  brutal  truth, 
she  had  put  her  hand  to  many  things  and  had 
grown  tired  of  them. 

14 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHOUT 

Of  a  mixed  ancestry,  conflicting  schemes  were 
perpetually  being  urged  upon  her  from  the 
council-chamber  of  her  faculties,  prompting  high 
purpose,  but  paralysing  achievement.  Thus  she 
was  uncentred,  and  as  quick  and  complex  as  you 
please ;  or  she  was  merely  a  girl  of  two-and- 
twenty,  more  frank-faced,  perhaps,  than  pretty, 
such  as  you  could  match  in  London  several 
hundred  thousand  times  over,  craving  impossible 
breadth  among  life's  littlenesses,  and  a  cause 
amongst  causeless  hindrances ;  staunchly  fickle, 
tempestuously  steadfast ;  going  with  a  bright 
colour  and  a  free  step  from  an  arid  West  Central 
London  square  to  the  First  Avenue  Hotel. 
There  she  meant  to  see  this  Uncle  Joseph  with 
all  his  bourgeois  after-breakfast  crudeness  heavy 
on  him,  before  he  should  put  on  the  armour 
of  his  company-manners — the  very  name  of 
"  Squatter,"  the  grubbiness  of  it,  made  company- 
manners  a  dreadful  certainty.  She  meant  to 
figure  in  the  interview  as  the  calm-browed  lady 
with  the  sword  and  scales  and  bandaged  eyes, 
and  to  judge  whether  this  rough  old  man  did 
indeed  appear  to  have  had  his  heel  upon  the  neck 
of  her  curly-haired,  merry,  sulky,  splendid  old 
playmate,  Ned,  grinding  him  into  the  mire  of  dull 
ill-manners,  and  a  blighting  solitude,  and — and — 
pigginess — for  that  really  summed  up  everything. 

15 


DINKINBAR 

Here  was  a  cause ;  here  was  a  bend  in  life's 
road  that  would  round  into  broader  landscape 
at  last,  instead  of  the  mud-walled,  drab-hued, 
dusty  highroad  of  her  daily  living.  She  was 
ready  to  do  and  dare  all,  so  Ned  were  brought 
again  amongst  the  things  that  were  worthy  of 
him.  In  truth,  Uncle  Joseph  was  prejudged. 
For  Jim — shrewd,  just,  brilliant  Jim — she  adored. 
Jim  had  been  to  Cambridge,  and  had  written  in 
newspapers,  and  meant  to  write  in  books  ;  and 
on  such  things  as  shades  of  character  and  men 
and  matters  in  the  rough  could  Jim  act  or  think 
unworthily  ?      Oh,  no. 

Yes,  the  gentleman  was  in  his  private  sitting- 
room  ;  would  she  come  up  ?  She  went,  proudly, 
calmly  as  she  fancied,  passing  in  appropriate 
review  as  she  went  the  little  she  had  learned  of 
Saint  Theresa,  until  a  door  was  opened  in  some 
high,  secluded  passage-way,  and  she  forgot  Saint 
Theresa  in  the  more  imperative  occupation  of 
drawing  breath  without  choking  in  a  small  room 
that  was  solid  blue  with  cigar  smoke — smoke 
that,  nevertheless,  she  knew  instinctively  was 
from  the  burning  of  excellent  tobacco-leaf. 

A  firm-knit  man,  nigh  on  six  foot,  was  standing 
to  receive  her.  The  half-burned  cigar  was  in  his 
right  hand,  and  the  morning's  paper  hanging  in  a 
broad  sheet ;  the  fingers  of  his  left  were  outspread 

16 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHOUT 

upon  the  table  ;  he  was  gazing  at  her  with  his 
head  shrewdly  and  kindly  aslant,  and  with  one 
eyebrow  raised  inquiringly,  out  of  eyes  entirely 
friendly. 

"  There,"  he  said,  with  an  unmistakable  hearti- 
ness that  killed  all  the  harshness  in  his  voice, 
though  it  certainly  could  not  make  it  musical. 
"  Come  near  the  fire  ;  sit  down.  Smoke  bothers 
you  ?  No  wonder.  Let's  have  some  fresh  air, 
or  what  they  call  fresh  air  in  this  place."  He 
turned  and  eyed  the  window-fastenings  doubt- 
fully. "  So  you  think  you  can  undertake  the 
work,  Miss — Hines,  isn't  it?" 

What  there  was  of  bashful  maidenhood  in 
Susie  prayed  that  the  floor  might  swallow  her. 
There  was  some  horrible  mistake  ;  if  this  indeed 
was  Uncle  Joseph,  he  took  her  for  a  laundress  or 
something.  At  the  same  time  that  sure  sense  in 
her — the  survival  in  nice  women  of  the  calm-eyed 
honesty  of  their  childhood,  had  set  the  man  upon 
his  trial,  and  was  giving  her  wildly  contradictory 
reports  of  him.  As  for  externals,  his  hands, 
scarred  and  furry,  were  the  hands  of  a  plough- 
man, and  his  weathered  complexion  that  of  a 
foremast  hand  ;  his  clothes  were  roomy,  and  un- 
mistakable reach-me-downs ;  his  boots  were 
bulbous  and  huge,  with  curves  upon  them  like 
the  curves  of  an  upland  fallow,  and  they  fitted  the 

17  c 


DINKINBAR 

feet  as  a  nutshell  fits  a  kernel.  And  yet,  though 
manifestly  he  took  her  for  a  seamstress  or  such, 
he  had  stood  to  receive  her,  she  was  sure,  not 
differently  than  he  would  have  risen  for  a  countess. 
Thus,  while  Uncle  Joseph — if  indeed  it  were  he 
at  all — fumbled  about  the  window-sash,  Susie 
held  her  crimson  face  with  both  hands  and  longed 
for  extinction,  and  at  the  same  time  made  these 
clear-eyed  notes  ;  winced  at  his  skin  and  at  his 
clothing',  warmed  to  his  true-ringing  courtesy  and 
his  thought  of  her.  It  was  the  latter  that  drew 
her  across  to  him  in  his  strange  helplessness  at 
the  window ;  she  deftly  undid  the  latch  and 
opened  it  wide. 

"  These  Chinese  puzzles  for  window-fastenings 
are  new  since  I  was  a  boy,"  he  said,  still  eyeing 
the  sash  ;  "  and  it's  been  more  wood  than  glass  in 
my  windows  this  many  a  year,  and  pegs  to  fasten 
'em.  However,  come  and  sit  down,  Miss — 
Miss ? " 

"  I'm    Su — I'm   Miss    Thynne,"   she  fluttered  ; 

"and,  if  you  please,  who  are  you  ?     I  mean " 

It  sounded  like  a  nursery  rhyme,  she  thought,  and 
laughed  distractedly. 

"  The  Lord  bless  me!  Not  Susan's  girl  ?"  he 
said,  taking  off  his   spectacles. 

"  I  should  think  she  was,"  said  a  mellow 
woman's  voice  ;  "  and  why,  Joe,  you  should  deny 

18 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHOUT 

your  own  flesh  and  blood  when  it  looks  at  you 
with  your  very  own  eyes,  that  beats  me." 

As  she  spoke,  a  fine,  grey-haired  woman  came 
up  to  Susie,  and  with  strong,  kind  fingers  ten- 
derly put  away  behind  her  ears  some  wandering 
strands  of  hair  that  had  come  loose  through  her 
exertion  at  the  window. 

Susie  at  the  sound  of  the  voice  had  turned  in 
awe.  Out  of  odd  scraps  of  misinformation  she 
had  done  for  herself  many  fancy  sketches  wherein 
Aunt  Martha  took  many  shapes  ;  but  usually  she 
was  the  unwomanly  frontiers  woman,  short-  kirtled 
and  work-worn,  with  hard,  curved  hands,  ready 
for  any  roughness,  from  milking  a  cow  to  drawing 
a  trigger.  But  awe  turned  to  reverence  as  she 
met  two  mother-wise  grey  eyes  ;  and  when  she 
felt  the  caressing  fingers  upon  her  temples,  she 
caught  and  kissed  them,  and  put  both  arms  about 
the  grey-haired  woman's  neck.  "  It's  my  Aunt 
Martha,"  she  said. 

"  Ay,  it's  Aunt  Martha,"  the  other  said  ;  "  and 
surely  God  has  sent  you  to  me  somehow  for  the 
wee  thing  I  lost  away  out  there.  Look,  Joe  ;  it's 
what  she  would  have  been,  the  bonnie  lamb." 

Uncle  Joseph  had  turned  away  to  cough,  and 
muttered  that  the  poisonous  London  fog — al- 
though a  breeze  as  pure  as  snow  had  rushed  in 
at  the  open  window — was  in  his  eyes  and  throat. 

19 


DINKINBAR 

But  the   women    were    crying   unobtrusively  to- 
gether, and   did  not  heed  him. 

Mrs.  Thynne  had  for  many  years  observed  to- 
wards her  children  the  attitude  of  a  hen  of  ex- 
tremely orthodox  views  who  had  been  basely  put 
to  hatch  out  ducklings,  and  whose  suspicions  of 
something  not  quite  normal  about  the  tastes  and 
anatomy  of  her  brood  since  their  emergence  from 
the  shell  had  received  early  and  desperate  confir- 
mation by  their  putting  forth  delightedly  and 
with  unholy  enterprise  upon  the  bosom  of  the 
duck-pond.  Stuart  Thynne  was  an  Irishman, 
and  the  inheritor  of  an  estate  which  a  sufficient 
number  of  ancestors  had  loyally  exploited  on  the 
methods  of  the  genuine  Irish  gentleman  so  as  to 
bring  it  well  within  sight  of  insolvency.  Not 
long  after  the  time  when  the  years  brought  on 
Stuart  Thynne's  turn  to  exercise  the  indiscretion 
of  his  fathers,  something  in  him  of  cautious  and 
foreign — his  neighbours  called  it  sordid ness — set 
him  figuring  at  his  resources,  with  the  result  that 
he  sold  out  and  went  to  England.  His  action 
was  hotly  denounced  by  compatriots  of  the  old 
conservative  school,  who,  supported  by  their  rot- 
ting peasantry,  were  booming  serenely  along  to 
catastrophe.  It  was  suggested  that  Thynne's  de- 
sertion was  traceable  to  a  taint  of  Saxon  integrity 

20 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHOUT 

that  had  been  intruded  into  the  blood  of  his  peo- 
ple about  the  time  of  the  Rebellion.  He  braved 
the  storm  of  indignation,  however,  and  sold. 
Through  no  fault  of  his  own — for  he  went  into 
the  market  blindfold — he  alighted  on  the  crest  of 
a  swift  and  sudden  rise  in  landed  property,  and, 
where  he  had  looked  for  tens,  got  thousands  of 
dirty  English  money  for  the  ancestral  bog-land 
and  stone  fences.  He  not  unnaturally  ascribed 
the  gift  of  chance  to  what  he  called  his  Anglo- 
Picto-Celtic  shrewdness,  and  on  careful  analysis 
of  his  character  was  astonished  to  discover  that 
he  was  a  born  inventor  with  a  turn  for  finance. 
He  married  a  plain  English  housewife,  one  Susan 
Heyrick,  to  take  firm  hold  of  the  good  earth  and 
to  counterbalance  the  Irish  top-hamper,  as  he 
said — for  he  had  all  his  countrymen's  facility  and 
freedom  in  metaphor — and  set  his  face  towards 
industrial  and  financial  enterprise.  But  he  was 
too  Irish.  The  Saxon  strain  was  not  enough  to 
thicken  and  harden  and  weight  the  head  ;  and 
in  the  balance  of  temperament  that  Irish  heart 
would  still  outweigh  it.  It  was  the  Anglo-Saxon 
in  him  that  gave  him  his  horror  of  debt  and  dirt, 
that  led  him  to  sell  out  of  Ireland  and  to  settle 
a  sufficiency  upon  his  wife  ;  but  it  could  not  keep 
the  results  of  his  subsequent  transactions  on  the 
right  side  of  his  ledger.      His  first  considerable 

21 


DINKINBAR 

enterprise — the  sale  of  his  estate — remained  his 
only  successful  one  ;  and  it  never  occurred  to  him 
that  that  was  not  to  be  ascribed  to  his  own  acute- 
ness.  He  lived  long  enough  to  beget  the  eager- 
witted  boy  and  girl,  and  to  see  the  various 
schemes  in  which  he  had  embarked  all  his  money 
founder  irrevocably.  His  sound  Saxon  head  was 
one  day  full  of  an  invention  that  was  to  mend 
his  failing  fortunes,  and  his  Irish  heart  was  con- 
cerned for  his  baby-girl  and  her  teething ;  and 
but  for  this  preoccupation  he  might  have  had 
ime  to  save  himself  as  well  as  the  child  that  he 
rescued  from  beneath  a  runaway  omnibus  on 
Farringdon  Road.  As  it  was,  he  was  killed. 
And  it  was  a  curious  thing,  hardly  noted  at  the 
time,  that  at  the  inquest  the  bus-driver  said  he 
saw  the  gentleman's  face  below  as  the  front  wheel 
caught  him,  and  that  he  looked  glad  ;  also  that  he 
cried  out  in  a  very  clear  voice,  something  not  in 
the  English  tongue. 


22 


CHAPTER  II 
The   Bush  from  Within 

SUSIE  was  placed  between  the  uncle  and  aunt, 
and  was  aware,  to  her  confusion,  that  she 
was  unobtrusively  worshipped  by  them  both.  It 
was  worse  than  awkward,  and  humiliating  some- 
how ;  and  yet  unspeakably  grateful.  Grateful, 
because  Aunt  Martha's  adoring  kisses,  and  the 
unerring  tenderness  of  her  hands,  gave  Susie  the 
sense  of  bringing  warmth  and  light  to  some  part 
of  the  habitation  of  her  being  that  had  hitherto 
lain  cold  and  unoccupied.  It  was  awkward,  be- 
cause that  something  in  her  that  had  cried  out 
in  protest  at  first  against  these  people  and  their 
rough  ways  would  rise  up  to  be  reckoned  with 
hereafter. 

The  manners  of  Uncle  Joseph  were,  in  a  way, 
up  to  her  nicest  standards.  And  yet  his  boots 
and  scarred  hands,  with  their  covering  of  bleached 
fur  (though  it  was  true  his  nails  were  trim  and 
clean),  and    his  bulgy  clothes !     Then  his  eyes  ; 

23 


DINKINBAR 

behind    that    genial    fatherliness    was  there    not 
a  leer,  as  of  low  commercial  cunning?     Was  he 
kindly  by  the  fireside,  rude  and  a  rogue   in   the 
market-place  ?     And  Aunt  Martha  ?     Even  while 
that  strong  kind  hand  was  at    Susie's  neck,   and 
warming  the  cold  places  in  her,  a  sense  of  guilt 
smote  upon  the  girl  as  she  winced  at  the  clash  of 
colour  in  her  aunt's  little  antiquated  cap  that  hid 
the  lovely  grey  hair,  and  at  the  gaunt,  grim  cut  of 
her  clothes,  of  cheap  strong  stuff,  coarse  enough 
to    set    modern    and    metropolitan    nerves    ajar. 
As    she    contemplated    Aunt    Martha   from    the 
aesthetic  standpoint,  thorny  thickets  seemed  to  rise 
between    them,  and   the    heaven  of  their   future 
relations   grew   black.      And   yet   these   two,    to 
whom  her  heart  went  forth  grudgingly,  took  her  to 
their  arms  at  sight,  saw  in  her  a  worthy  self  she 
knew  not.      It  was  good   to  be  hailed   as    of  the 
blood  and  bone  of  these,  the  very  offspring  of  sin- 
cerity.     But    in    the  vital,  unessential   matter  of 
raiment !    Susie  held  that  every  crease  and  crinkle 
every  shade  and  texture  in  the  clothing  of  man  or 
woman,  cried  aloud   of  their   wearer's   character 
things    that    eyes  and  tongue  were  forbidden  to 
utter  ;  and  she  groaned  within  herself  as  her  eyes 
roamed  from  Uncle  Joseph's  waistcoat  and  boots 
to   Aunt   Martha's  gown  and  cap.     Finally,  she 
filled  a  pause  in  the  conversation  with  a  peal  of 

24 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHIN 

laughter  at  the  horror  of  confusion  that  had  risen 
up  within  her. 

Uncle  Joseph  wheeled  upon  her  suddenly — 
almost  scowling.  But  even  Susie's  laugh  of  dis- 
traction was  very  sweet,  and  his  bushy  brows 
lifted.  "  You  reminded  me  then,  though  you're 
not  a  bit  like  him,  of  that  brother  of  yours.  I 
hope,"  he  added  elaborately,  "  he's  very  well  ?" 

Susie  set  up  her  chin  loyally.  "  He's  very 
well,  thank  you,  that  brother  of  mine.  Jim  and  I 
are  so  much  alike,  we  might  be  twins." 

"  Ay,  only  you're  not,"  Uncle  Joseph  said 
sternly,  as  if  denying  her  entire  statement.  "  Oh, 
your  brother's  all  right,  I  dare  say,  for  a 
Londoner." 

"  For  a  Londoner  ?  And  what  am  I  ?  And 
what  is  there  better  than  a  good  Londoner,  Uncle 
Joseph  ?  " 

"  Why,  a  man.  You  ?  You're  fit  for  better 
things." 

Susie  thought  the  way  he  pounded  his  knee 
was  almost  vulgar,  and  turned  to  Aunt  Martha, 
who  was  stroking  her  hand.  "What  does  he 
mean,  Aunt  ?     Why  doesn't  he  like  Jim  ?" 

"  Joe,  you're  too  sudden,"  Mrs.  Heyrick  said 
severely  to  her  husband.  "He  has  his  hobbies, 
dear,  about  people  roughing  it,  and  the  good  it 
does  them,"  she  finished  tenderly.      But  Susie  felt, 

25 


DINKINBAR 

for  all  the  fineness  of  the  touch  upon  her  hand, 
that  she  was  left  alone  to  champion  Jim. 

"  Stand  to  your  mates,  girl,  I  like  it,"  said 
Uncle  Joseph  squarely;  "and  you  and  me" — 
Susie  shuddered  slightly — "will  be  the  faster 
friends  for  that.  Your  brother's  very  well,  as  I 
said,  very  well — um.  And  as  for  hobbies,  if  it's 
hobbies  to  put  your  cockered-up  young  fellows 
where  they've  got  to  show  the  stuff  they're  made 
of  right  through,  then  I'm  chock  full  of  hobbies." 

"  Jim  is  the  best  of  good  stuff  then,"  Susie 
dashed  in  hotly,  fronting  uncle  and  aunt  in  turn 
as  common  enemies  of  her  house.  "  He  did  well 
at  college,  and  if  he  isn't  clever  enough  for— the 
Bush  " — she  pulled  up,  aghast  at  the  boldness  of 
her  own  satire,  but  Uncle  Joseph  smiled  en- 
couragement, and  rubbed  his  knees.  She  leaned 
towards  him  impulsively.  "  You  shall  like  him, 
Uncle  Joseph  ;  if  you  like  me,  you  must.  He 
knows  so  much ;  you  shall  hear  what  they  say  of 
his  writing.  Aunt  Martha,  you  know,  we  told 
you  the  wonderful  way  he  took  that  scholarship." 

"  I  know,"  Uncle  Joseph  said  drily,  "  the  way 
he  took  that  steamship  to  get  home  to  his  ma. 
There,  he's  a  regular  ringer  at  his  books,  I  don't 
doubt,  and  maybe  an  old  bullock-puncher  like  me 
doesn't  take  enough  stock  in  dictionaries  and 
things."     Susie  shuddered  at  the  antique  illiterate- 

26 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHIN 

ness  of  the  phraseology,  and  yet  bubbled  into  a 
laugh,  and  loved  the  fatherly  way  her  knee  was 
touched. 

"  Now,  there's  Ned,"  said  Uncle  Joseph  briskly  ; 
"  you  remember  Ned  ?  "  and  Aunt  Martha  echoed 
the  name  with  the  motherly  vibration  restored  to 
her  deep  contralto. 

"  Ned  ?  Remember  dear  old  Ned  ?  " — Susie's 
laugh  was  like  a  general  handshaking — "jolly, 
sulky,  clumsy  old  Ned.  Tell  me  about  him." 
She  observed  that  a  message  in  conjugal  cipher 
passed  between  aunt  and  uncle  ;  then  Uncle  Joseph 
rubbed  his  sandy  beard  joyously. 

"  Ay,  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  looking  deep 
among  the  coals.  "  I  suppose  he  was  just  as  big 
a  fool  and  as  much  of  a  da — ha — hashed  nuisance 
as  the  rest  of  the  new  chums,  before  I  worked 
the  green  grass  and  the  limejuice  out  of  his 
constitution." 

"  Learn  to  talk  English,  Joe,"  Aunt  Martha 
said,  as  the  girl  turned  to  her  in  perplexity.  "  It's 
the  way  the  old  hands  talk  about  the  boys  fresh 
from  home,  Susie  dear." 

"  When  they're  green  and  soppy,  that's  it," 
Uncle  Joseph  went  on  ;  "  but  I  had  hopes  of 
Ned  from  the  start.  He  used  to  make  me  talk 
forcibly,  certainly,  but  he  never  wanted  to  put  an 
umbrella  in  his  swag." 

27 


DINKINBAR 

"  That's  his  blankets  and  things,  when  they  go 
camping  out,"  Aunt  Martha  interpreted. 

"  That's  it  ;  and  I  never  caught  him  hanging 
boot-trees  on  his  saddle  to  use  in  camp,  or  that 
kind  of  thing,  that  nearly  all  the  new  chums  get 
up  to.  And  when  I  stove  in  the  hard  round  hat 
he  arrived  in,  and  gave  it  to  the  niggers,  and 
burnt  some  of  the  tents  and  English  rubbish  he 
had  got  in  the  Strand  here,  and  cut  up  his  jack- 
boots to  nail  on  the  brake- blocks  of  my  buggy, 
and  all  that,  he  came  round  sooner  than  most  of 
'em  to  see  I  was  right." 

"  He  did,  the  brave  boy,"  Aunt  Martha  said ; 
"  but  do  you  remember  the  trouble  there  was,  Joe, 
when  he  caught  the  cook  going  off  with  his  night- 
shirts to  make  pudding-cloths  of  them  ?  " 

Uncle  Joseph  shouted  with  delight,  but  Susie 
put  both  hands  to  her  face,  which  was  burning. 
Aunt  Martha  pulled  one  of  the  hands  away,  and 
kissed  the  hot  cheek.  "  I  forgot,  dearie,"  she 
said  gently;  "  Ned  told  me  you  had  made  them. 
He'd  have  killed  the  cook,  I  believe,  if  he  had 
torn  one  of  them." 

"And  so  on,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  having 
cleared  his  throat  ferociously;  "it  was  the  same 
all  round.  He  turned  giddy  when  he  saw  his 
first  bullock  killed  ;  but,  Lord  love  me,  three 
weeks   afterwards    there   he    was,    blood   to   the 

28 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHIN 

elbows  and  the  knife  in  his  teeth,  rummaging 
about  the  inside  of  the  beast  for  a  cut  of  the  fillet 
for  his  supper." 

"  Joe — steady."  The  blood  had  ebbed  from 
Susie's  face  as  quickly  as  it  had  flowed  there. 

"  Oho,  well,  he  shut  his  teeth  and  he  learned — 
that's  all."  Uncle  Joseph  rubbed  his  knee. 
"  The  day  he  got  his  first  buster  off  a  buckjumper 
— the  black  mare  that  nearly  killed  Count  Moltke 
afterwards,  Martha " 

Susie  gasped.     "  Count ?  " 

"  A  blackboy,  child."  Aunt  Martha  was  watch- 
ing the  girl's  face  like  a  Spartan  mother. 

"  A  nigger,  certainly.  And  the  mare  trod  on 
the  calf  of  his  leg,  too — Ned's  leg — as  he  fell, 
and  missed  his  ear  by  the  breadth  of  a  sixpence 
with  her  hind  foot.  And  what  did  he — Ned — do 
when  he  picked  himself  up  ?  Well,  he  went 
dead  white,  and  clung  to  the  stockyard  rail  just  a 
second  ;  and  he  ground  his  teeth  and  caught  the 
mare  and  rode  her — ay,  and  she  could  buck — rode 
her  till  she  stood  and  the  sweat  fell  like  rain  off 
her — her " 

"  Chest,"  Aunt  Martha  interposed  firmly. 

Susie  breathed  deep,  and  set  her  face  to  hear 
the  rest.  "  And  so  he's  getting  on  nicely  ?  "  she 
said  formally. 

"  Well,"    said   Uncle  Joseph  critically,    "  that's 

29 


DINKINBAR 

a  big-  word.  I've  put  him  right  through  the 
roughest  road  I  could  find,  and  that's  fair  to 
middling  rough  out  there  for  a  new- chum,"  he 
added  grimly.  "  But  Ned  came  through  with  it. 
And  if  he  gets  through  the  job  I  set  him  when  I 
left  without  a  smash  up,  you  may  take  it — oh, 
yes" — with  elaborate  complacency — "you  may 
take  it,  he's  doing  fairly  well;  and,"  with  a 
chuckle,  "he'll  save  his  uncle  about  ^ioo  in 
wages  on  the  trip." 

"  And  what  is  this  job,  this  trip,  Uncle  Joseph  ?" 
Susie  clung  to  her  chair  with  one  hand,  and  to 
Aunt  Martha's  wrist  with  the  other.  She  was 
nerved  to  hear,  almost,  that  Ned  had  been  set  to 
exterminate  by  scalping  all  his  fellow- men  within 
a  fifty-mile  radius  of  Uncle  Joseph's  homestead. 

"  It's  just  that  he's  on  the  road — or  should  be — 
with  five  hundred  Dinkinbar  bullocks,  that's  mine, 
to  market ;  and  the  road's  two  thousand  miles 
long,  and  there's  some  fall  by  the  way,  and — and 
the  thieves  spring  up  and  choke  'em."  Uncle 
Joseph  drew  up  lamely  amongst  his  mixed  par- 
ables. 

Susie  laughed  a  sudden,  rather  tearful  laugh  at 
the  breaking  down  of  Uncle  Joseph's  imagery. 
"Two  thousand  miles  ?  Oh,  Aunt  Martha!  And 
he  never  wrote  a  word  of  all  these  troubles  even 
when  he  did  write,  poor  boy." 

30 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHIN 

"Well,"  Uncle  Joseph  said  heavily,  "  no,  Ned's 
like  me  there,  I'm  afraid.  Not  much  of  a  scholar, 
not  like " 

"  Joe,  steady."  Aunt  Martha  gave  her  word  of 
command,  and  drew  Susie  to  her.  "  Don't  be 
frightened,  my  bonnie ;  we've  lived  among  these 
things  so  long,  and  we  can't  but  think  you  know 
what  it's  like.  He  makes  it  sound  crueller  than 
it  is.  And  Ned's  as  strong  and  sound  as  a  horse, 
and  as  true  as  a  bell." 

Uncle  Joseph  pursued  his  story  with  the  con- 
vincing pertinacity  of  the  tough-souled  and  the 
blunt-spoken  that  sets  the  sympathetic  listener, 
unused  to  the  lack  of  conversational  tactics,  upon 
the  rack.  Susie  turned  to  him  with  no  less  fear 
than  before,  but  with  more  show  of  fortitude. 

"  No,  it's  not  so  bad,"  he  continued.  "  He's 
roughed  it,  has  Ned.  And  if  he  fetches  through 
to  Melbourne  with  my  bullocks — and  he  will, 
too — and  makes  a  cheque  for  me,  why,  he  may 
do  more."  He  sat  up  in  his  chair  and  rattled 
the  money  in  his  pockets,  nodding  with  lifted 
eyebrows.  "  Then  he  may  run  the  station  for 
me,  and  after  me  for  himself,  and  some  one  else, 
who  knows,  hey  ?  We're  childless.  That  comes 
of  showing  grit,  eh,  Martha  ?  "  And  again  a 
message,  unnoticed  by  Susie  this  time,  passed 
between  the  eyes  of  the  pair. 

3i 


DINKINBAR 

"  And  there's  the  hobby,"  Uncle  Joseph  went 
on  dogmatically,  "  if  you  call  it  a  hobby  to  take 
your  young  gentlemen  of  England  and  let  'em 
know  what  stuff  they're  made  of." 

Susie  rallied  to  her  cause.  "  By  seeing  whether 
they  turn  out  good  butchers,  Uncle  Joseph,  and 
cattle-drovers,  and  get  fond  of  messy  things  ?  " 

He  reached  over  and  gave  her  shoulder  a 
friendly  shake  that  was  to  her  at  once  a  rebuke 
and  a  caress.  "  More  than  that,  girl,  a — a — devil 
of  a  lot  more.  If  there  wasn't  soldiering,  and  the 
sea,  and  the  Bush,  and  the  likes  of  them  to  sort 
out  the  men  from  amongst  us,  and  if  it  was  all 
this  cockered-up  cuff-and-collar  business  you  get 
in  the  towns,  what  would  come  o'  the  race  ?  " 

The  sea  again,  and  yoked  to  the  Bush  !  Here 
were  Jim's  weapons  in  other  hands  ;  the  sliding 
down  the  balusters  of  civility  was  being  triumph- 
antly vindicated.  Susie  was  deeply  persuaded 
that  pernicious  doctrines  were  being  urged  ;  but 
now  the  whole  cause  of  enlightenment,  as  well  as 
the  good  faith  of  Jim,  were  being  thrust  upon 
her  to  uphold,  and  she  found  herself  unprepared 
for  the  task. 

"  No,"  Uncle  Joseph  continued,  thumping  his 
knee,  and  well  set  upon  the  business  of  unmasking 
the  frauds  called  civilization  and  culture ;  "  I've 
seen  too  much  of  it  these  thirty  years  to  be  taken 

32 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHIN 

in  by  your  home-bred  youngsters.  Why,  look  at 
that  last  lot  of  new-chums  that  Snelling  got  out; 
wasn't  that  enough,  eh,  Martha  ?  " 

"  The  Honourable  Mr.  Snelling's  a  neighbour 
of  ours,  Susie,"  Aunt  Martha  explained  ;  and 
added,  nodding,  "  a  very  good  neighbour.  He's 
a  brother  of  Lord  Rainscourt's,  you  know." 

Susie  accepted  this  as  a  concession  to  her  sup- 
posed home  prejudices,  and  said  vaguely,  "  Oh, 
yes. 

"Oho,  yes,"  said  Uncle  Joseph;  "  Snelling's  a 
very  good  neighbour  so  long  as  he's  watched 
close.  But  he  taught  me  a  thing  or  two  about 
cheap  new-chum  labour,"  he  chuckled.  "  When 
he  came  home  to  try  and  float  his  station  and 
a  lot  of  desert  country  at  the  back  of  it  into  a 
Company  last  year,  and  couldn't,  he  fetched  out 
half  a  dozen  new-chums  as  '  colonial  experi- 
ences '  as  the  next  best  thing — got  a  whacking 
premium  with  each  ot  'em,  of  course.  Well,  I 
don't  suppose  you  could  have  found  a  more  mixed 
lot  of  what  they  call  gentlemen's  sons  any- 
where. Their  fathers  were  all  manner  of  re- 
spectable things,  I  believe,  from  a  baronet  to 
half-pay  officers  and  doctors  and  things,  and  a 
big  merchant.  Snelling  barred  the  retail  trade 
because  he  couldn't  knock  a  big  enough  premium 
out  of  them." 

33  d 


DINKINBAR 

"  All  of  them  black  sheep,  of  course,"  Susie 
remarked  sweetly. 

"  That's  just  it,  they  weren't.  Snelling  barred 
that,  too.  He  started  in  that  line  himself,  and 
found  it  didn't  pay.      He " 

"Joe,  steady,"  Aunt  Martha  called. 

But  Uncle  Joseph  was  not  to  be  quelled  on 
this  occasion,  and  his  face  darkened  a  little. 
"  You  know  as  well  as  I  do,  Martha,  that  the 
Honourable  Snelling's  as  much  of  a  swindler  as 
he  dares.  No,"  he  went  on  to  Susie  ;  "  no  black 
sheep.  There  were  one  or  two  of  them  had  been 
slung,  or  spun,  or  whatever  they  call  it,  for  the 
army,  and  by  what  they  told  me,  if  that  makes  a 
black  sheep  of  a  youngster,  your  flocks  over  here 
will  do  with  a  lot  of  thinning  out.  They  were 
just  an  average  sample.  All  well-spoken,  clean- 
bred  looking,  upstanding  youngsters,  by  and  large 
as  much  alike  as  so  many  cockerels  in  a  barnyard 
— at  first.  And  they  all  brought  the  same  kind 
of  rubbish  in  the  way  of  a  '  colonial  outfit ' — 
all  manner  of  artillery  and  bowie-knives  and 
things  they  had  got  photographed  in  before  they 
started.  And  of  course,"  he  added  drily,  "  they 
were  all  ready  to  teach  us  old  hands  how  to  run 
our  stations." 

"  Don't  be  too  hard,  Joe,"  said  Aunt  Martha, 
who  was  still  watching  Susie's  face ;  "  you  know 

34 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHIN 

you  said  when  you  came  away  that  two  of  them 
would  turn  out  well ;  and  he  was  a  father  to 
every  one  of  them,  Susie." 

"  Well,  there  you  are — and  I  wonder  who 
mothered  the  lot  of  'em,  Martha,  eh  ?  That's  only 
thirty-three  and  a  third  per  cent.,  and  not  one  Ned 
amongst  them.  There  you  are  ;  you  see,  girl  ? " 
he  turned  triumphantly  to  Susie.  "  Two  went 
home  aeain  inside  three  months,  funked  it  like — 
like  anything.  Two'll  most  likely  die  drunkards  ; 
and  one  of  them  took  to  moping  and  mooning 
instead  of  minding  his  business  ;  and  the  Lord 
only  knows  how  or  where  he  11  finish — in  a  mad- 
house, I  expect ;  and  even  of  the  two  that  look  as 
if  the  tomfoolery  might  be  knocked  out  of  them, 
one's  that  dirty — Martha,  d'you  remember  the  day 
Odofers ?  " 

"  I  remember  perfectly,"  Aunt  Martha  cut  in 
severely,  and  shuddered. 

"  Still  they're  good  stuff,  two  out  of  six,  and 
it  strikes  me  that's  a  liberal  allowance,  as  new- 
chums  go.  And  there's  your  hobby.  You  leave 
those  six  at  home,  and  they'd  have  gone  through 
life  just  like  the  rest  of  these  young  Britishers, 
that  nobody  can  tell  one  from  the  other,  same  as 
Chinamen,  and  they'd  have  married  and  settled 
down  and  been  what's  called  a  credit  to  their 
families,  and  have  had  pews  in  church,  every  one 

35 


DINKINBAR 

of  them.  But  you  take  'em  and  set  'em  down  out 
of  the  reach  of  all  these  things  that  keep  them 
'  respectable,'  and  put  their  own  lives  in  their  own 
hands  to  do  what  they  like  with.  Well,  some  of 
them  haven't  the  heart  of  a  chicken  when  there's 
nobody  looking  on ;  and  some  drink  because 
there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  disgrace  to  it ;  and 
they're  nearly  all  as  dirty  as  monkeys  because 
there  isn't  a  clean  towel  and  scented  soap  always 
handy,  and  hot  water  brought  up  to  their  bed- 
rooms. As  for  the  moral  side  of  them,  they  can't 
keep  that  two  or  three  streets  off  and  behind 
brick   walls — there's   a    pane    of    glass   let    into 

them " 

Uncle  Joseph  had  felt  himself  on  doubtful 
ground  here,  and  was  consulting  Aunt  Martha 
with  his  eyes  for  instructions  how  to  proceed, 
when  a  frizzed  and  pretty  young  woman  was 
ushered  into  the  room. 

It  was  the  typewriting  young  lady,  by  appoint- 
ment with  Mr.  Heyrick,  who  received  her  pre- 
cisely as  he  had  welcomed  Susie,  whom,  in  fact, 
he  had  mistaken  for  her,  owing  to  the  bungling 
of  the  name.  The  new-comer  showed  some 
haughtiness — which,  however,  appeared  to  be  en- 
tirely thrown  away — at  the  familiarity  of  Uncle 
Joseph's  reception  of  her. 

While  Mr.  Heyrick  was  absorbed  in  a  business 

36 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHIN 

discussion  with  the  young  lady,  Aunt  Martha  de- 
voted herself  to  Susie  as  a  mother  might  fall  to 
comforting  a  child  who  had  come  without  shrink- 
ing through  her  first  visit  to  the  dentist.  Some- 
thing stern,  almost  flinty,  about  Mrs.  Heyrick — 
something  that,  while  she  was  silently  applaud- 
ing her  husband's  hard  conclusions,  had  seemed 
to  match  the  unsesthetic  cap  and  the  rigid  cloth- 
ing— was  now  on  a  sudden  laid  aside  like  a  suit 
of  mail,  leaving  only  the  mild,  submissive  yearn- 
ing that  had  first  drawn  Susie  to  her  with  the 
childish  instinct  that  chooses  its  friends  unerr- 
ingly and  instantly. 

But  very  soon  Uncle  Joseph  had  bowed  his 
visitor  out,  and  came  back  rubbing  and  smacking 
his  hands  joyfully.  And  at  once  Susie  was  aware 
that  the  brief  armistice  was  past ;  she  prepared 
to  take  up  arms  again  in  defence  of  her  own 
kind ;  she  remembered  Uncle  Joseph's  boots 
and  his  cunning  smile,  and  Aunt  Martha's  dis- 
cordant cap,  and  how  the  stuff  gown  had  tickled 
her  cheek. 

"  Oho,"  Uncle  Joseph  re-opened  jubilantly, 
jerking  his  thumb  towards  the  door,  "  this  is  a 
great  institution,  this  type-writing.  Snelling  put 
me  up  to  it.  I'll  get  through  all  the  business  in 
a  crack,  and  order  this  batch  of  new-chums  in 
half  the  time,  eh,  Martha  ?  " 

37 


DINKINBAR 

"  Remember  you're  not  to  take  any  I  don't 
approve  of,  Joe,"  Aunt  Martha  said  decisively. 

"  Of  course  not,  old  woman."  He  bent  over 
Susie,  and  touched  her  under  the  chin  very 
gently.  "Your  aunt's  going  to  ear-mark  my 
young  gentlemen,  and  put  the  station  brand  on 
the  boys'  ribs  herself,  Susie." 

Aunt  Martha  slapped  the  great  paw  and  an- 
swered the  girl's  dumb,  horrified  inquiry — "  It's 
more  of  his  jokes,  dear  child  ;  that's  what  they  do 
with  the  cattle." 

"  But  what  boys  ?  "  Susie  said,  looking  from 
aunt  to  uncle  with  her  head  high. 

"  Why,"  Uncle  Joseph  said  triumphantly, 
"don't  you  see,  girl,  I'm  going  to  teach  'colonial 
experience '  to  a  small  but  very  select  party  of 
young  gentlemen,  if  I  can  catch  'em,  at  so  much 
per  head." 

He  sat  down  and  chuckled,  and  the  look  that 
passed  with  Susie  for  greed  and  cunning  was 
strong  in  his  eyes. 

"  Going  to  make  men  of  them,  I  suppose,  Uncle 
Joseph  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Ay,"  he  returned  heartily,  mistaking  her 
challenge.  "  Any  of  'em  that  have  the  makings 
in  'em.  If  not,  why,  ho-ho,  we'll  send  'em  back 
as  returned  empties,  like — ahum." 

"  I'll   take   care   of    them,    child,"    said   Aunt 

38 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHIN 

Martha,  almost  apologetically,  and  stroking  the 
girl's  hand. 

But  Susie  plucked  it  away ;  no  less  than  a 
hemisphere  lay  now  between  her  and  the  strong- 
faced  woman,  who,  she  remembered,  was  no  blood 
relation  of  hers.  But  she  thrust  back  her  hand 
into  Aunt  Martha's  immediately  all  the  same, 
with  the  snuggling  movement  of  a  creature  ask- 
ing caressment.  At  the  same  time  she  said  hotly 
to  Uncle  Joseph,  "  And  they'll  drink,  and — and 
get — piggy,  Uncle  Joseph,  and  nobody  to  care, 
that's  all." 

"  Ah,  Sue,"  came  sorrowfully  from  deep  in 
Aunt  Martha's  breast. 

"  I  didn't— I  didn't  mean  it,  Aunt  Martha." 
Susie  forgot  the  gown  and  cap  again. 

"Hey,  Martha!"  Uncle  Joseph  shouted,  so 
fiercely  and  suddenly  that  Susie  started  and  fol- 
lowed his  eye  to  the  fire  in  a  dim  fear  of  explo- 
sives hidden  among  the  coals — "  Martha!  " 

"  Joe,  steady,"  said  Aunt  Martha  sternly ; 
"  you're  enough  to  drive  the  girl  crazy  ;  you're 
not  in  the  stockyard,  remember.     What  is  it  ? ': 

He  turned  to  his  wife  with  the  light  of  news 
and  a  great  discovery  in  his  eyes,  and  pointing 
to  Susie  at  the  same  time  with  three  large  fingers. 
"  Martha,  we'll  take  her  with  us,  hey  ?  She's 
the  stuff — the  real  stuff.     We'll  take  her.     She'll 

39 


DINKINBAR 

see  what  Ned  is  ;  she'll  see  us  straighten  out 
these  new-chums,  and  scrub  the  varnish  off  them. 
She'll  believe  us  then.  And  maybe  " — here  he 
winked  obtrusively  at  his  wife — "  maybe  she'll 
stay."  Then  he  plumped  a  hand  on  each  knee, 
and  squared  his  elbows,  and  looked  at  Susie  as 
though  all  reasonable  objection  had  been  settled 
and  done  with. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Susie  looked 
straight  before  her ;  Uncle  Joseph  remained 
fixed,  and  stared  forcibly  at  his  niece  ;  a  deep, 
quiet  sigh  came  from  Aunt  Martha,  and  she  said 
at  last  very  softly,  in  a  tone  that  went  straight  to 
Susie's  heart,  "My  sweetheart,  if  she  only  would! 
But  there,"  she  went  on  in  a  voice  that  was  hard 
by  comparison,  "  you're  always  sudden,  Joe — and 
maybe  you're  fixed  here.  Susie,  maybe  the 
notion  terrifies  you,"  she  added. 

Susie  was  still  looking  wide-eyed  into  the  fire. 
She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "  I'm  not  fixed," 
she  said  dreamily.  "  Plenty  of  people  call  me 
'  Feather-top.'  No,  I'm  not  frightened  either." 
She  saw  nothing  of  a  message  of  congratulation 
that  passed  between  the  eyes  of  her  uncle  and  aunt. 

"  And      there's      your    mother,     child,     would 

she ?  "     Aunt  Martha  paused-  and  laid   her 

left  hand  suddenly  on  her  mouth,  palm  outwards, 
and  looked  hungrily  above  it  at  the  girl. 

40 


THE    BUSH    FROM    WITHIN 

Susie  nodded  slowly  to  the  fire,  and  said,  still 
dreamily,  "  Poor  mater,  I  think  she  would  let  me 
go."     She  smiled  faintly. 

The  uncle  and  aunt  quietly  drew  closer  to  the 
crirl.  "  Then  maybe — maybe,  my  lamb — you'll 
come  with  us,"  Aunt  Martha  said  almost  in  a 
whisper. 

The  girl  started  as  if  out  of  sleep,  and  looked 
amazedly  from  one  to  other  of  the  faces  near 
her  own.  "  I  don't  know — I  don't  know,"  she 
said  distractedly,  and,  knitting  her  fingers  close, 
she  stood  up  and  pushed  back  her  chair,  the  two 
elder  people  following  her  beseechingly  with 
their  eyes. 

"  I  must  run,"  she  said,  and  began  to  hunt 
feverishly  round.  Aunt  Martha  found  her  gloves 
on  the  floor  ;  the  other  articles  that  Susie  con- 
tinued to  seek  hastily  turned  out,  after  all  three 
had  joined  in  the  hunt,  either  to  be  in  their  right 
places  or  to  have  been  left  at  home.  Then  she 
dashed  into  a  precise  description  of  how  her 
mother's  house  was  to  be  found,  making  uncle 
and  aunt  repeat  the  turnings  and  names  of 
streets  after  her,  and  kissing  them  both  lightly, 
she  fled. 


4i 


CHAPTER   III 
A    Horseman    and    His    Herd 

SUSIE  sped  with  a  face  of  blind  pre-occupa- 
tion  down  the  steps  of  the  First  Avenue 
Hotel,  and  was  lost  to  the  deferential  gaze  of  the 
huge  gold-rimmed  door-keeper  in  the  torrent  of 
the  Holborn  traffic.  She  was  still  adrift  and 
heedless  of  direction  and  of  the  surging  vehicles 
round  her,  when  she  found  that  she  had  reached 
Holborn  Circus,  and  that  she  was  the  object  of 
much  shouting,  since  the  hub  of  a  passing  wheel 
was  brushing  against  her  skirts. 

She  saw  as  she  stepped  back  upon  the  pave- 
ment that  she  had  been  menaced  by  a  huge  lum- 
bering wagon,  piled  high  with  quaking  carcases. 
It  was  groaning  down  towards  the  Smithfield 
meat-markets,  whose  pinnacles  glittered  cheer- 
fully in  the  sunshine  a  little  way  to  the  left.  As 
the  wagon  passed  she  looked  up  and  met  the 
eyes  of  the  driver.  He  grinned  "when  he  saw 
her  safe,  then  whipped  his  horse  into  a  trot,  and 
went  whistling  on  his  way.       He  was   a  great, 

42 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

gross  creature,  she  observed,  and  his  coarse  blue 
blouse  was  stained  with  grease  and  caked  with 
the  blood  of  many  dead,  dissevered  beasts.  Susie 
watched  him  as  he  lurched  whistling  down  the 
hill,  and  she  continued  to  stand  and  gaze  long 
after  he  and  his  grisly  load  had  disappeared 
through  a  gaping  portal  in  the  markets. 

It  was  given  to  that  hulking  wagoner  to  quell 
the  riot  in  her  thoughts,  reducing  them  to  most 
uncomfortable  and  convincing  order.  There, 
without  doubt,  into  that  charnel-house,  went  the 
embodiment  of  Uncle  Joseph's  ideal  of  what  the 
man  who  had  come  to  his  full  heritage  of  man- 
hood ought  to  be. 

To  be  a  breeder,  a  tender,  a  slaughterer  of 
beasts,  a  drover,  a  butcher  with  bloody  hands  ; 
to  be  heavy-footed,  heavy-jawed,  earth-stained, 
beefy  to  the  very  soul — was  that  Uncle  Joseph's 
ideal  of  manly  fitness  ?  Alack,  it  was.  For  how 
should  it  be  otherwise  ?  The  very  type  of  it  had 
1  even  now  passed  before  her — had  all  but  crushed 
the  life  out  of  her,  and  had  laughed  in  her  face ; 
and  Jim,  her  own  brother  and  twin  soul,  had 
gone  to  see  the  finished  product  of  manly  living, 
and  had  found  that  it  was  as  bad  as  the  worst  of 
her  fears.  All  that  there  was  in  her  of  fineness 
and  tenderness  rose  up  in  lament  that  her  old 
playmate,  the  only  unrelated  boy-friend  she  had 

43 


DINKINBAR 

ever  known,  should  have  been  given  over  to  such 
a  fate,  and  in  revolt  against  the  offering  up  of 
fresh  victims  in  the  form  of  Uncle  Joseph's  pro- 
spective new-chums.  She  turned  towards  home 
with  a  set  face  and  a  firm  step.  She  would  see 
what  could  be  done  to  repair  what  evil  had  been 
already  wrought,  and  to  mend  matters  in  the 
future.  Here  was  a  purpose  high  enough  !  It 
certainly  appeared  as  if  Crisis  had  overtaken  her 
at  last. 

During  those  same  hours,  or  thereabouts,  when 
the  season  and  the  sun  made  it  spring  forenoon 
in  England,  and  Susie  turned  back  from  Holborn 
Circus  with  the  spirit  of  the  martyrs  awake  in 
her,  there  was  autumn  and  black  night  in  Aus- 
tralia ;  near  upon  the  time  when  the  wagoner 
and  his  quaking  load  trundled  downhill  to  Smith- 
field,  and  set  Susie  aflame  with  loathing  of  him 
and  his  tribe  and  trade,  a  drover,  eight  thousand 
miles  or  so  beneath  her  feet,  was  on  his  way  to 
market  with  beef. 

He  had  been  on  watch  an  hour ;  it  was  three 
o'clock  ;  at  five  there  would  show  in  the  East 
that  dim  unshapen  whiteness,  the  spirit  of  light 
that  heads  the  pageantry  of  dawn.  Shortly  the 
Morning  Star  must  send  his  steady  radiance  low 
down  among  the  unmoving  leaves.     The  drover 

44 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS  HERD 

sat  with  his  hands  crossed  upon  the  pommel  of 
his  saddle,  and  faced  to  the  eastward,  watching 
for  the  star. 

The  cattle  lay  in  a  natural  clearing  of  the  open 
forest.  Round  about  it,  the  ragged  tree-tops  ran 
in  a  broken  ridge  against  the  stars,  and  waste 
darkness  lay  among  their  limbs ;  but  in  the  broad 
space  there  fell  a  spacious  dimness  like  the  last 
blink  of  twilight  in  a  cathedral  nave.  Early  in 
the  night  four  great  fires  had  been  built,  accord- 
ing to  drovers'  usage,  to  mark  the  cattle-camp ; 
but  these  had  been  allowed  to  die  down,  and  now 
where  each  had  burned  the  embers  sent  out  a 
crimson  flush  that  showed  great  silhouettes  of 
sleeping  cattle  and  reddened  the  nearer  tree- 
trunks.  Faintly  and  far  down  the  forest,  a  square 
blot  of  lesser  darkness,  the  tent  glimmered,  and 
chiming  now  ever  so  faintly  came  the  sound  of 
the  bells  on  the  hobbled  horses. 

The  drover  had  gone  afoot  many  times  round 
the  mob,  leading  his  horse  and  talking  cattle-talk 
such  as  Bush  beasts  know  well  from  infancy  to 
signify  man  and  horse,  discipline  and  safety.  Then 
he  had  mounted,  for  the  watcher's  instinct  told 
him  that  there  was  about  to  pass  that  thrill  of 
strange  unrest  that  steals  round  the  world  in  the 
waste  of  the  early  hours.  As  it  goes  by,  every 
thing  that  sleeps  is  troubled,  and  all  that  wake 

45 


DINKINBAR 

are  afraid,  and  the  sick  must  listen  for  the  beating 
of  the  wines  of  Death  ;  it  is  the  moment  when 
cocks  crow  in  the  darkness  with  unseasonable 
clamour,  and  dogs  howl  as  at  the  sight  of  some 
fearsome  thing  that  passes  by. 

When  that  mysterious  time  draws  on,  the 
drover  whose  cattle  are  not  yet  wholly  seasoned 
to  surprises  on  the  road  must  get  a-horseback 
and  feel  his  horse's  bit  and  be  ready,  for  the 
honour  of  his  charge,  and  of  his  name  and  his 
blood — should  his  cattle  rush — to  ride  and  fear  not. 

A  faint,  distressful  moaning  spread  about  the 
camp ;  the  drover  turned  his  horse  to  face  it,  sent 
his  feet  hard  home  in  the  stirrup-irons,  took  a 
short  grip  of  the  reins,  and  started  to  ride  slowly 
round.  The  mob  had  remained  after  their  first 
lying  down  almost  without  stirring  since  their 
cud-chewing  was  finished  ;  from  the  dim  mass 
only  big  peaceful  sounds  of  sleep  had  risen.  Now 
and  then  one  of  the  sentry  bullocks  would  lie 
down,  blow  his  vast  breath  of  contentment,  and 
another  would  rise  to  stand  on  guard.  For  set 
the  purest  farm-bred  English  cattle  where  alarms 
may  come,  and  in  a  single  day  they  will  renounce 
the  traditions  of  their  centuries  of  safety,  shelter, 
and  refining,  and  resort  to  the  warrior  tactics  of 
their  long-horned,  shaggy  ancestors,  and  keep 
watch  and  watch  against  surprises. 

46 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

The  moaning  spread  among  the  herd  till  the 
open  space  was  full  of  mutterings  and  of  a  heavy 
stir,  as  beast  after  beast  rose,  stretched  himself, 
and  turned  uneasily.  Here  and  there  one  would 
lunge  aimlessly  with  his  horns  at  a  neighbour,  in 
a  fretful  drowsiness,  then  the  neighbour  would 
wake  and  rise  to  join  the  restless  company,  spread- 
ing unquiet  in  his  turn. 

Maybe  a  fourth  of  the  mob  was  thus  afoot.  It 
was  the  blackest  moment  of  the  night,  and  with 
it  the  spirit  of  inquietude  was  passing  westward 
round  the  globe.  The  drover  called  soothingly 
to  his  cattle  ;  with  half  an  eye  he  had  seen,  low 
down  among  the  timber,  the  first  white  glitter  of 
the  Morning  Star. 

The  dragging  seconds  of  anxiety  were  nearly 
past ;  several  deep-blown  sighs  had  already  told 
that  the  cattle  were  settling  down  again  for  their 
morning  sleep.  Suddenly  from  overhead  there 
came  the  angry,  tiny  chattering  of  a  possum,  and 
a  dead  silence  fell  among  the  beasts  ;  those  that 
were  about  to  settle  stood.  The  snarling  was 
followed  by  small  sounds  of  furry  combat,  and 
then,  as  the  loser  was  thrown  out  of  the  nest,  by 
a  rasping  of  claws  scrambling  for  a  hold  among 
the  strips  of  sere  gum-bark — a  noise  that  shook 
the  stillness  underneath  like  the  sound  of  a  trum- 
pet ;  and  at  that,  and  with  a  great  "  h-rrr-mm  "  like 

47 


DINKINBAR 

the  grounding  of  twenty  thousand  rifle-butts  on  a 
hollow  floor,  every  beast  leapt  up  and  stood.  And 
the  drover,  as  he  raised  a  steady  voice,  could  see, 
against  the  crimson  ember-glow,  the  forest  of 
upraised  horns,  the  ears  strained  forward,  the 
lines  of  the  straight  backs,  and  the  arched  tail- 
butts,  all  dead  still  as  the  beasts  hung  upon  the 
brink  of  panic. 

Another  sound  of  scratching,  harsher  than  the 
last,  fell  upon  the  bodeful  silence,  and  a  dry  twig 
fell  and  snapped  across  the  loins  of  a  bullock  that 
stood  on  the  edge  of  the  mob,  facing  the  darkness 
and  farthest  from  the  man's  comforting  voice. 
That  touch  upon  him  meant,  to  his  drawn,  dull 
senses,  that  all  the  hidden  horrors  of  the  night 
were  close  upon  him.  He  gave  the  high  note  of 
brutish  terror,  and  laid  himself  out  in  a  gallop  to 
outrace  his  fears. 

Before  he  had  finished  a  single  stride  it  seemed 
as  if  the  whole  dim  multitude  behind  him  turned 
from  stone  to  flesh  as  the  five  hundred  cattle 
streamed  with  an  earth-shaking  roar  out  of  the 
open  space  and  thundered  down  the  forest. 

The  drover,  and  his  horse  as  well  as  he,  knew 
that  wild  note  for  the  Bushman's  call  to  battle. 
Even  as  the  sound  rose,  the  horse  wheeled  un- 
bidden, and  as  he  wheeled  the  drover  set  himself 
saddle-fast,  rammed  his  hat  firm,  and  gripped  his 

48 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

hide  chin-strap  hard  between  his  teeth.  As  the 
mob  loosened  itself  to  drive  away  in  terror,  the 
horse  had  already  gained  from  the  rear  to  the 
flank  of  it ;  before  the  beasts  were  well  out  of  the 
open,  he  was  hard  upon  their  centre.  But  by 
then  the  bullocks  had  opened  out  for  room,  and 
were  going  naked,  blind,  and  free  as  a  flood, 
while  the  single  horse  that  must  head  and  stem 
the  rush  had  his  saddle  and  his  master  on  him, 
had  to  mind  the  bit  in  his  teeth,  and  skim  wide  of 
the  rushing  trees,  since  a  touch  of  one  of  them 
was  death  to  his  rider.  It  settled  down  to  a 
race — brain  against  brute,  twelve  stone  of  man- 
hood and  four  sound  hoofs  against  four  thousand 
hundredweight  of  beef. 

The  rider's  nerve  and  muscle  were  strained  to 
their  uttermost,  but  his  mind  was  poised  in  a  fine 
composure,  keen  and  clear  above  the  breathless- 
ness  of  events  like  a  well-handled  surf-boat  on 
the  cap  of  a  breaker.  The  grey-boled  trees 
seemed  to  rise  before  him  and  rush  by  as  if  new- 
created  from  the  chaos  of  darkness.  The  bark 
on  one  of  them,  where  they  were  close  set,  snarled 
against  his  legging,  and  he  laughed ;  nearer  by  an 
inch  had  meant  a  shattered  knee,  nearer  by  a 
foot,  death,  his  horse  going  loose-reined  and  rider- 
less. A  low,  straight  limb  showed  up  across  his 
course,  coming  like  a  bludgeon  aimed  at  his  chest, 

49  E 


DINKINBAR 

if  he  should  stay  erect ;  he  stooped  forward  in  a 
leisurely  way,  and  let  it  pass  above  him. 

He  found  time  to  look  across  the  torrent  of 
heavy  bodies  that  rushed  at  his  elbow  and  to 
listen,  as  to  the  music  of  an  orchestra,  to  the 
mighty  ground-bass  of  the  galloping  cattle,  and, 
through  and  above  it,  to  the  lighter  sounds  of 
desperate  hurry — the  tumultuous  clicking  of  hoofs 
and  horns  like  a  very  hurricane  of  castanets,  the 
purr  of  the  flying  sand,  and  now  and  then  a 
ripping  and  a  splintering  as  sharp  as  the  crash  of 
cymbals,  when  the  mob  plunged  through  and 
scattered  a  patch  of  dead  and  brittle  wood. 

If  ever  the  dead  come  back  to  watch  us,  then 
a  great  white  company  of  silent  horsemen,  risen 
from  the  soil  of  many  lands  and  out  of  many  ages, 
rode  through  the  night  above  the  gum-tree  tops, 
and  looked  down  exultingly  while  the  drover  sent 
his  blood-bay  up  from  flank  to  centre  and  crept 
upon  the  leaders  of  his  stampeding  herd ;  if  he 
and  the  blood-bay  had  ended  the  ride  against  one 
of  those  swinging  tree-trunks,  then,  if  ever  the 
dead  rise,  the  two  would  straightway  have  been 
called  up  to  join  the  squadron  overhead. 

The  drover  said  never  a  word  till  his  saddle- 
girth  was  level  with  the  horns  of  a  leading  bullock 
near  him  ;  then  he  uncoiled  his  nine-foot  whip,  and 
sent  all  there  was  of  weight  and  will  in  his  arm 

50 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

spinning  down  the  throng  till  the  cracker  burst 
again  and  again  about  the  eyes  and  muzzle  of  the 
beast,  with  the  noise  of  pistol-shots  and  the  sting 
of  fifty  dragoon-hornets  in  one.  At  the  same  time 
he  wheeled  his  horse  inward  and  set  up  the  war- 
whoop  of  the  cattle-yards.  The  bullock  slowed 
in  his  speed  and  plunged  aside  before  the  noise 
and  the  fury  of  pain,  the  whip  fell  here  and  there 
like  a  rain  of  hot  bullets,  and  the  rout  spread  till 
the  whole  lead  was  turned.  The  horse  moved  as 
if  to  the  drover's  very  thought,  and,  as  the  beasts 
came  on  crowding  up  to  him,  he  worked  his  raw- 
hide artillery  right  and  left,  till  shortly  the  whole 
herd  was  suroino-  about  its  own  centre.  A  little 
more,  and  the  drover's  whip  was  coiled  and  on 
his  thigh  again,  and  he  was  talking  the  quiet 
cattle-talk  and  turning  back  the  last  weak  rushes 
of  the  few  beasts  in  which  there  still  lingered  the 
dregs  of  panic.  The  mob  no  longer  whirled  upon 
its  own  axis,  but  surged  and  simmered  in  many 
currents. 

Presently,  when  they  made  to  scatter,  and 
when  the  drover  heard  peaceful  sounds  of  brows- 
ing rise  up  from  the  dim  herd,  he  knew  the  dan- 
gers of  the  night  were  done,  and  headed  them 
towards  a  little  opening  in  the  timber. 

The  Morning  Star  had  climbed  beyond  the 
tree-tops,  and  its  cold,  pure  radiance  shone  like  a 

5i 


DINKINBAR 

jewel  on  the  forehead  of  the  dawn ;  down  low,  a 
pearly  spread  of  light  was  putting  out  the  lesser 
stars.  It  was  already  broad  day,  and  there  was  a 
golden  fume  in  the  east,  before  one  of  the  men 
rode  out  from  the  camp. 

It  was  a  bringing  of  beef  to  market,  for  weekly 
washes,  even  as  when  the  blood-stained  wagoner 
trundled  his  grisly  load  to  Smithfield — only,  down 
under  there,  the  trails  are  longer,  wider,  freer 
somewhat  than  the  sheltered,  rutted  English  roads 
that  the  home-grown  beef  must  travel  from  the 
pasture  to  the  meat-block. 

The  man  who  turned  away  from  the  cattle  to 
ride  his  two  miles  leisurely  back  to  camp  in  the 
golden  morning,  amongst  the  long-drawn  tree- 
shadows,  had  tasted  the  glory  and  the  pride  of 
good  horsemanship.  He  went  tacking  forth  and 
back,  across  and  across  the  trampled  belt  where 
the  stampeding  bullocks  had  gouged  the  earth 
into  innumerable  hollows,  and  he  sang  loudly  as 
he  saw,  alone  in  the  smooth  earth,  clear  of  the 
fresh-torn  cattle  tracks,  the  steady,  clear-cut  line 
of  his  own  horse's  flying  hoofs.  This  he  followed 
back  till  it  led  him  to  the  low  limb  that  had 
threatened  his  life.  He  stopped  his  singing  there, 
and  rode  slowly  beneath  the  limb  on  his  tracks, 
stooping  low  to  let  it  pass  above  him  ;  the  bark 
brushed  his  shirt.      He  pulled  the  horse  up,  and, 

52 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

leaning  a  hand  on  the  croup,  turned  and  looked 
with  round  eyes  at  the  rugged  branch. 

"If  I  hadn't  stooped  quite  so  far,  Busyfoot, 
and  if  you  hadn't  been  extended  in  a  gallop,  and 
consequently  a  couple  of  inches  lower,  maybe, 
than  your  proper  measurement  of  fifteen  two — 
what  then,  hey,  old  horse  ? 

"What  then,  m-m  ?  "  He  rode  forward,  strok- 
ing the  horse's  neck,  his  exultation  past.  "  Le's 
see;  five  hundred  of  Mr.  Joseph  Heyrick's  bul- 
lock's gone  to  scatteration  ;  dust  unto  dust  " — he 
looked  at  the  arid  ground — "  mourning  note- 
paper  and  envelopes  for  awhile,  maybe.  I  fancy 
not." 

He  folded  his  hands  on  the   pommel,  and  let 

the  horse  go  loose-reined.       "Uncle  Joe?      Jim 

Baxter  ? — hope  they'd  have  given  him  my  saddle 

— Aunt  Martha?"     He   looked  about  him  in  a 

puzzled  way. 

"  '  Should  the  sturdy  station  children  pull  the  bush 
floivers  on  my  grave, 
I  may  chance  to  hear  them  romping  overhead.'' ' 

He  looked  round  him  again,  shamefacedly  this 
time,  caught  up  the  reins  resolutely,  but  dropped 
them,  and  went  on,  scowling  forward  between  the 
horse's  ears.  "  No — no,  child  ;  Busyfoot,  no  wife, 
no — m-m  ?  "  On  a  sudden  he  melted,  and  began 
to  whisper  rapidly — "  A   widow,   an  unchurched 

53 


DINKINBAR 

widow  there  would  be,  Busyfoot ;  a  black  girl 
crying  away  up  among  the  basalt  ridges  of  Din- 
kinbar,  crying  like  a  dumb  thing,  the  way  they 
do.  The  way  she  did  when  I  came  away,  and 
had  to  pull  her  arms  from  about  me,  and  leave 
her  lying  there  face  down. 

"  '  You  go  longa  town  now,  Ne'die,  big  fella 
town.  See  um  plenty  white  Mary,'  she  said ; 
'  no  more  come  back  longa  Noorna  ;  no  more, 
no  more.      Plenty  kill  umself  me.' 

"  Did  I  say  I'd  come  back  ?  Heaven  forgive 
me,  I  hardly  know.  But  I  do  know  she  cried 
herself  to  sleep,  holding  one  of  my  hands  in  both 
of  hers.  I  mustn't.  Never  more.  I'm  going  to 
town,  Busyfoot,  to  wash  the  black  stains  out  of 
me.     God,  they're  bitten  deep,  though  ! " 

There  was  the  camp  before  him  now,  with  its 
lumber  of  rolled  swags  and  raffle  of  saddlery  ;  the 
tent-pegs  were  sticking  out  forlornly,  enclosing 
the  flattened  patch  of  earth  and  grass  where  the 
men's  bodies  had  rested  ;  a  thin  ribbon  of  smoke 
fluttered  up  from  the  dying  camp-fire  ;  a  number 
of  square-built  horses,  free  or  in  hobbles  or  tied 
to  saplings,  stood  round  dejectedly,  or  strolled 
about  nibbling  absently  at  the  grass-tufts.  Three 
men,  who  were  rolling  up  the  camp--litter  or  sad- 
dling the  horses,  all  dropped  their  work  as  Busy- 
foot's  whinny  to  his  mates  struck  their  ears,  and 

54 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

came  out  and  stood  in  a  row  with  arms  akimbo  to 
hear  the  story  of  the  night's  rush  and  the  boss's 
ride  to  stop  it. 

He  told  his  tale  simply  and  peacefully  as  he  sat 
cross-legged  on  a  log  and  toiled  reposefully  with 
clasp-knife  and  teeth  at  the  breakfast  of  beef  and 
damper  and  a  slab  of  cake  that  had  been  set 
apart  for  him,  and  washed  the  food  down  with 
long  pulls  at  the  dark-brown,  much-sweetened 
tea.  His  audience,  from  the  cook,  who  looked 
half  pirate,  half  patriarch  in  his  touzled  greyness, 
to  the  younger  of  the  stockmen  with  the  face 
of  a  stolid  wooden  angel,  hung  upon  his  words, 
and  made  many  eloquent  listening  pauses  in  their 
work  of  hoisting  up  the  packs,  and  thumping  the 
swags  to  tighten  the  surcingles  finally  about  the 
pack-horses. 

One  of  the  men  went  back  to  join  the  cattle  ; 
the  other  forward  with  the  cook  and  the  loose 
horses  to  find  and  rig  the  night's  camp  ;  the 
drover  in  charge  sat  awhile  on  the  log. 

The  place  looked  flat  and  desolate  now  in  the 
broad  forenoon  sunshine,  and  was  very  still,  save 
for  a  light  droning  of  flies  and  occasional  enquiring 
quawks  from  overhead,  as  the  beady-eyed  crows 
drew  nearer  among  the  trees  and  exchanged 
notes  on  the  prospect  of  a  harvest  of  scraps. 
There  was  a  round  impress  in  the  ashes  where 

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DINKINBAR 

last  night's  damper  had  been  baked,  a  lump  of  re- 
jected beef-fat  was  moistening-  in  the  growing 
warmth  of  the  sun,  and  spreading  a  greasy  stain 
about  itself  in  the  red  earth  ;  here  and  there  a  dried 
splash  and  a  spurt  of  wizened  tea-leaves  marked 
where  the  men  had  flung  out  the  dregs  from  their 
pannikins.  The  footmarks  about  the  camp  looked 
age-old  already.  The  man  on  the  log  leaned  an 
elbow  on  his  knee  and  sunk  his  chin  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand  ;  he  held  a  stick  in  the  other,  and 
with  it  he  drew  scrawls  on  the  sand  between  his 
feet. 

A  big,  gentle  sigh  behind  him  stirred  him  to 
rise  and  turn.  A  stout,  hairy-legged  grey  horse 
was  hitched  to  a  sapling — Busyfoot  having  gone 
free  after  his  night's  work ;  the  grey's  eyelids 
were  lifting  and  lowering  sleepily,  and  his  head 
hung  so  that  with  the  tightening  of  the  reins  the 
bit  was  dragging  up  his  mouth  into  the  semblance 
of  a  pulpy,  fatuous  smile.  The  man,  as  he 
noticed  it,  broke  off  in  a  gigantic  stretch  to  laugh 
unreasonably ;  the  horse  raised  his  head  and 
gazed  lustrously  at  his  master,  pricking  his  ears 
and  nickering  with  closed  lips  in  a  way  that  set 
his  velvety  nose  shuddering. 

The  drover  set  his  hat  firm,  and  laid  the  chin- 
strap  in  its  place,  and  rode  off  among  the  timber 
to  join  his  cattle  with  the  whip-handle  set  on  his 

56 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

right  thigh,  the  stockwhip  in  swinging  loops,  the 
grey  going  at  a  low-stepping  steady  walk.  His 
back  was  scarcely  turned  upon  the  forsaken  camp 
before  six  crows,  their  blue-black  plumage  shining 
like  armour  in  the  sun,  swooped  down  and  fell  to 
strutting  and  quarrelling  and  clashing  their  iron 
beaks  among  the  camp  plunder. 

The  thick-set  grey  horse  plodded  patiently 
along  for  a  mile  or  so,  watching  ahead  amongst 
the  lank,  ash-coloured  tree-stems  for  a  sight 
of  the  moving  cattle,  his  ears  turning  restlessly 
back  and  forth.  The  man,  his  body  giving  to 
the  horse's  stride  with  the  firm  unthinking  ease 
that  comes  of  living  in  the  saddle,  seemed,  since 
leaving  the  camp,  to  have  laid  aside  all  memory 
of  the  tempest  of  action  that  had  swept  him 
through  the  strenuous  dawning  into  the  dull  to- 
day, and  to  be  as  entirely  re-absorbed  in  his  dry 
routine  as  the  horse  beneath  him.  When  the 
bright  coats  of  the  scattered  mob  showed  up  as 
they  filtered  slowly  through  the  timber  ahead, 
strolling  and  munching  on  their  way,  and  sending 
up  a  peaceful  hum  like  the  sound  of  a  distant 
factory,  he  took  up  his  share  in  edging  the  beasts 
forward,  flicking  up  the  heels  of  the  stragglers, 
and  dodging  in  the  flanks,  but  leaving  it  to  the 
leaders  to  make  their  own  sluggish  pace,  of  a  mile 
or  so  an  hour,  towards  the  night's  camp,  and  thus 

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DINKINBAR 

onward  daily  to  the  trucking-yards  at  the  railway 
terminus,  fifteen  weeks'  journey  to  the  southward. 

There  lay  within  the  space  of  those  few  hours, 
between  that  stillest,  blackest  moment  of  the 
night  before  the  first  white  breath  of  dawn  was 
showing,  and  the  broad  forenoon  sunlight,  a  fine 
epitome,  in  the  truest  setting,  of  all  the  trials 
and  the  duties  that  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  cattle- 
drover  and  the  dweller  in  the  back-blocks.  The 
sleeping  herd,  the  glare  of  the  dying  watch-fires, 
the  ranks  of  sentinel  trees,  and  the  impenetrable 
darkness — then,  out  of  the  drawn  silence,  the  stir- 
ring of  all  living  things  ;  the  tremor  of  earth  as  the 
cattle  sprang  afoot,  and  the  wild  thunder  of  hoofs 
as  they  went  crashing  down  the  dark  forest ;  the 
long  chase  with  death  unheeded  threatening  every 
stride ;  the  winning  to  the  front,  the  stormy, 
splendid  wheeling  of  the  living  torrent,  and  its 
simmering  and  settling  back  to  peace  as  the  light 
broadened.  And  then,  with  the  full  coming  of 
day,  the  sudden  drop  from  the  instant  exercise  of 
nerve  and  judgment,  fit  to  head  a  cavalry  charge 
or  quell  a  revolt  single-handed,  to  a  daily,  dusty, 
weeks'-long  uninspiring  mill-round  of  routine. 

Utter  solitude,  for  which  men  rave  till  they 
have  tasted  it,  since  to  taste  it  leaves  them  dumb  ; 
for  brief  moments  the  kingly  exaltation  of  fierce, 
free,  headlong  war  against  the  brute  forces  of  the 

58 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

world ;  to  live  in  the  main  a  life  of  flat  drudgery, 
on  which  the  simple  body  thrives,  while  the  spirit, 
singly  conservative  among  adaptive  parts,  hugs 
the  traditions  of  home,  and  in  revenge  against  the 
body's  grossness  stirs  tender  memories  that  ache 
and  sting  like  a  reproach — this  is  what  the  would- 
be  frontiersman,  whose  wits  are  nimbler  than  his 
purpose  is  assured,  must  face,  once  the  freer  life 
lays  hold  upon  him.  The  boundaries  of  our 
Empire  are  sentinelled  by  men  within  whom  there 
goes  on  unceasingly  this  war  between  Old  and 
New. 

It  was  in  the  outskirts  of  a  raw,  rambling  town- 
ship far  to  the  south  that  the  drover  yarded  his 
cattle  for  the  last  time,  and  waited  till  the  cattle- 
trucks  were  pushed  gingerly  down  the  railway 
siding  to  receive  his  mob,  and  roll  it  away  for 
sale  and  slaughter. 

Then  began  the  final  act  of  the  trip  in  the 
crowding  of  the  beasts  into  the  funnel  shaped 
race  and  the  ramming  of  them  home  into  the 
open  trucks  that  were  pushed  up  one  by  one. 
The  animals  surged  back  at  first  from  the  mouth 
of  the  race  and  the  open  truck  beyond  as  from 
the  jaws  of  death,  and  then,  driven  by  the  hooting 
and  prodding  of  the  men  behind  them,  crowded 
up  and  fought  blindly  forward. 

The  drover  stood  somewhat  apart  and  watched 

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the  packed  and  heaving  crush,  topped  by  the 
clashing  horns,  the  straining  eyeballs  and  snoring 
muzzles,  and  heard  the  hollow  trampling  on  the 
wooden  floors  as  load  after  load  was  completed, 
as  if  his  pride  in  this  triumphant  ending  to  a  long, 
successful  journey  were  dashed  with  a  sense  of 
guilt  that  it  was  something  of  a  betrayal  of  old 
friends  into  the  hands  of  the  executioner.  As  the 
work  went  forward,  he  hung  farther  and  farther 
back.  The  cheerful  comments  of  a  row  of  local 
idlers  roosting  on  the  stockyard  rails  behind  him, 
and  the  sustained  and  growing  glee  of  his  own 
men,  whose  blood  was  in  a  joyous  simmer  of 
anticipation  of  a  spree  in  town,  smote  him  with 
a  dreariness  that  grew  upon  him  as  the  numbers 
of  the  cattle  thinned.  The  last  truck-load  was 
crowding  towards  the  door,  and  at  the  tail  of  them 
all  a  noble,  fine-horned  bullock,  his  coat  of  white 
with  its  big,  map-like,  jagged  splotches  of  ruby 
red  shining  with  health — his  certificate  of  clean 
ancestry  and  a  temper  as  mild  as  his  mother's 
milk — pulled  up  unconcernedly  in  the  mouth  of 
the  race  to  give  a  rough-tongued  licking  to  his 
ribs.  As  he  finished  his  business  of  the  toilet, 
the  beast's  eyes  met  those  of  the  drover  behind 
him,  at  whom  he  gazed  long  and  meltingly. 

"  It's   old   Atlas,"  said   one  of  the  stockmen  ; 
"always  in  the  tail.      Here,  hump  yerself  and  yer 

60 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

joggraphy  inter  the  meat-wagon,"  and  he  made 
to  give  the  beast  a  final,  friendly  prod  with  his 
stick. 

But  the  drover,  stopping  him,  came  up  and 
rubbed  the  beast's  quarter.  Atlas  strained  his  big 
eyes  in  clumsy  gratitude. 

"  Damn  me,"  the  drover  said  quietly  behind 
his  shut  teeth ;  "  but  I  feel  blood-guilty.  You 
seem  to  be  more  of  a  chum  this  minute  than  the 
two-legged  ones.  Good-bye,  mate  ;  maybe  we'll 
meet  again."  Atlas  swung  his  tail  slightly  as  if 
in  salute,  and  strolled  into  the  cattle-truck.  He 
looked  back  without  fear  as  he  took  his  place, 
and  the  door  was  banged  and  fastened  behind 
him. 

"  Must  hev  give  them  coves  a  heap  of  smart 
ridin  to  fetch  down  a  mob  o'  poddies  *  like  that," 
a  young  fellow  on  the  rail  remarked  cuttingly. 
He  was  in  snowy  moleskins  and  an  ironed  shirt, 
and  had  a  crimson  sash  about  his  waist. 

"  Not  the  sort  of  riding,  me  son,  that's  done  in 
townships,  round  the  bar  door,  be  flash  men  on 
quiet  horses,"  a  gentle,  seasoned  old  hand  said  in 

1  "  Poddy  "  :  a  motherless  calt,  which,  having  been  brought 
up,  so  to  speak,  by  hand  at  the  homestead,  is  distinguished  in 
after  life  by  his  quietness  of  demeanour  and  total  lack  of  fear, 
cither  of  horse  or  of  man.  He  gives,  consequently,  no  excuse 
for  brilliant  horsemanship  in  the  management  of  him. 

6l 


DINKINBAR 

a  tired  voice,  leaning  forward  on  the  rail  to  fix  the 
youngster  mildly  with  his  eye. 

All  the  others  in  the  roosting  line  regarded  the 
youth  with  critical  solemnity,  and  one  said  to  him, 
"Chewed  your  ear,  he  did,  that  time,  Charley." 
Charley  muttered  sulphurous  prophecies  as  to 
what  would  happen  in  the  next  encounter. 

On  the  strength  of  the  support  accorded  him, 
the  gentle  old  hand  seemed  to  regard  himself  as 
deputed  to  convey  the  sense  of  the  meeting  to  the 
drover  and  his  men,  who  were  now  coming  across 
the  yard — the  drover  lagging,  the  men's  faces 
filled  with  pride. 

"  I  never,"  said  the  old  hand,  raising  his  thin 
voice,  "  I  never  see  cattle  better  druv',  mister, 
so  help  me  Jimmy,  and  that's  a  big  word,  for 
I  druv'  cattle  this  thirty  year ;  ay,  from  coast 
to  coast,  north  and  south,  in  the  old  days.  Oh, 
don't  tell  me  " — he  raised  his  left  hand,  crooked 
at  the  knuckles,  as  if  it  always  held  the  bridle- 
rein.  "  Show  me  a  man  a-yardin'  and  a-truckin' 
of  his  mob  at  the  end  of  his  trip,  and  I'll  write 
him  the  character  he  deserves.  It's  the  steady 
start,  and  none  o'  the  hooray  business  " — he  jerked 
a  thumb  towards  the  crimson  sash — "  and  the 
man  that  never  sleeps  for  the  first  month  but 
what  a  whisper  '11  wake  him,  and  the  pokin' 
and  the  pokin'  along  day  in  and  day  out  as  it  a 

62 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

man  didn't  care  if  he  grew  old  and  died  on  the 
road,  and  was  buried  there  between  the  tent 
and  the  cattle-camp.  That's  it,  sir,  that's  it ! " 
He  pointed  to  the  line  of  the  closed-up  trucks, 
and  climbed  soberly  down. 

The  young  drover  faced  the  old  one  as  he 
came  to  the  ground,  and  straightened  his  back 
with  an  elderly  shrug.  The  two  exchanged  a 
friendly  look,  and  by  tacit  agreement  moved 
away  from  the  group  at  the  rails,  now  growing 
noisy  under  the  lead  of  the  crimson  sash. 

"  I'm  not  a-pilin'  it  on,  young  fellow,"  said  the 
old  man,  returning  to  the  matter  next  his  heart, 
and  kindling  to  a  gentle  enthusiasm ;  "  but  it 
isn't  often  I  sees  a  drover  these  days  as  knows 
his  trade,  and  likes  it.  When  I  does,  I  says  so. 
Man,  the  drovers  is  a  dyin'  race.  But  them 
cattle  of  yours,  mister,  what  with  their  coats  and 
their  condition,  and  the  kind  o'  way  they  looked 
at  you  over  their  shoulders,  familiar- like — well, 
there  you  are,  there's  your  character  wrote  out 
big.  And  a  good  one,  by  Jimmy!  And  when 
a  man  '11  go  up  and  handle  a  bullock  like  you 
done  that  red  'n  white  one — '  Rattles  '  you  called 
him  ? " 

"  Atlas.  It  was  a  joke  of  mine  that  the  red 
splotches  on  him  were  like  maps  ;  and  I  taught 
a    lad    in    the   camp  a  lot   of  geography    names 

63 


DINKINBAR 

off  them,  till  the  beast,  always  in  the  tail,  'd  let 
me  rub  him  down." 

"  There  now,  by  Crumbs  !  "  The  old  man 
followed  the  utterance  of  his  mild  expletive  by 
looking  the  younger  up  and  down  with  benign 
admiration,  as  a  master  craftsman  might  regard  a 
promising  junior.  "  And  this  Atlas  wasn't  even 
a  poddy  or  a  milker's  calf,  may  be  now,  and  a 
kinder  pet  to  start  with  ?  " 

"  No.  He  was  reared  in  the  open." 
"  By  Jimmy  !  Now  there  you  are  !  " 
"  Never  had  a  hair  of  him  under  cover  till  " — 
the  young  drover  turned  hastily,  and  shook  a  fist 
at  the  empty  yards  and  the  crowded  trucks — "  till 
I  shoved  him  in  that  blasted  wagon  there.  And 
now,  it  seemed  a  bit  like  going  back  on  a  mate 
somehow.  —  You'll  call  me  a  cow,"  he  added 
hastily,  aware  that  he  had  been  betrayed  by  the 
old  man's  simple,  whole-hearted  admiration  into 
an  admission  that  would  surely  be  misread. 

It  was  not.  The  old  man  laid  a  hand  on  the 
other's  shoulder.  "  See  here  now,  have  you 
wired  your  agents  and  got  your  papers  fixed, 
and  that  ?  You  have  ?  Well  then,  by  Jimmy, 
down  you  come  with  me  to  my  camp  on  the 
river,  and  we  has  a  feed  and  a  pitch  together. 
Lord  save  us  now!  but  since  I  buried  my  old 
mate,    Bill   Summers,  out  on   the   Georgina,  ten 

64 


A    HORSEMAN    AND    HIS    HERD 

year  ago,  I  haven't  seen  a  man  hardly  that  had 
the  old  stuff  in  him.  Mates  with  your  mob  ? 
Why,  man,  I'll  be  dinged,  but  there's  been  whiles 
that  when  I've  been  done  a-truckin'  of  'em  I'd 
sneak  off  behind  a  tree  and  bite  my  knuckles  for 
fear  of  crying  like  a  woman,  I  felt  that  black- 
hearted. But  these  " — he  rolled  his  head  vaguely 
towards  the  yard  with  its  roosting,  gesticulating 
line,  and  the  town,  and  his  feelings  seemed  to 
outrun  his  words — "  it's  flash  times,  and  hasty  ; 
come  along  down,  lad  ;  I  have  to  say  a  lot  to 
ye. 


65 


CHAPTER    IV 
The   Spirit  of  the   Pioneers 

THE  twilight  was  falling  mellow  and  warm 
round  the  two  men  as  they  still  talked 
restfully  in  the  old  drover's  camp  down  in  a 
secluded  gully  by  the  river,  when  into  one  of  the 
lengthening  pauses  of  the  dialogue  there  fell  the 
faint  sound  of  clashing  buffers  and  the  scream  of 
a  locomotive  in  the  town.  The  younger  man 
rose  hurriedly. 

"  I've  got  to  shape,"  he  said.  "  There's  things 
to  fix  up  for  an  early  start  in  the  morning — for 
town." 

"  For  town  ? "  The  old  man  rubbed  his  knees 
slowly  and  stared  among  the  embers  of  the  fire  ; 
"  for  town  ?  for  Melbourne,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  for  a  bit  of  a  spell,  you  know." 

"  Ah,  a  spell.  Look  there  now,  by  Jimmy, 
but  I'd  forgot  you  was  young  and  me  old.  To 
be  sure,  to  be  sure;  there's  the  theaytres,  and 
races,  and  the  girls,  and  that.  And  you'll  have 
friends  among  the  squatter-folk.     Ah."     He  ran 

66 


THE   SPIRIT   OF  THE   PIONEERS 

faintly  through  the  list  as  dealing  with  things  of 
which  he  had  long  lost  reckoning. 

"  Well,  no,"  the  younger  man  said,  and  the 
blankness  of  the  elder  seemed  to  have  infected 
him  somewhat ;  "  I've  no  friends  there.  But 
I'll  have  a  run  round  while  I'm  waiting  for  the 
boss  and  his  wife  to  come  out  from  England." 

"  Ah,  well !  " — the  old  man  frankly  relinquished 
his  efforts  after  sympathy — "go,  me  lad,  and 
luck  go  with  you.  I've  been,  and  I  tired  of  it. 
I'm  happiest  out  of  sight  of  the  telegraph  wire  ; 
and,  by  Crumbs,  I'm  nearer  town  this  minute 
than  suits  me.  You'll  tire.  You're  the  stuff 
they  make  the  men  of  that's  contenteder  in  the 
Bush.  You're  no  rowdy,  and  none  of  these 
scholards  that  piles  up  the  money-bags.  Come 
back,  and  keep  an  eye  out  for  me  or  me  bones 
about  the  long  cattle-roads  somewhere." 

They  shook  hands,  and  the  young  man 
tramped  away  with  a  determined  air. 

He  went  forward  slowly  in  a  slanting  course 
up  the  shelving  river  bank,  but  stopped  as  the 
yellow  lights  of  the  town  came  into  view  beyond 
the  silhouetted  tree-trunks.  Coarse  and  tiny 
sounds  of  roystering  came  over  to  him  from 
the  houses ;  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  sat  down 
upon  a  felled  tree-bole,  facing  the  broad  chasm 
of  the  river-bed.     Above  the  still  surface  of  the 

67 


DINKINBAR 

water-hole  the  giant  eucalyptians  leaned  over 
their  unflawed  shadows,  and  these  he  watched 
till  they  faded,  and  till  the  reflection  of  a  star 
laid  open  in  the  water  beneath  him  an  immeasur- 
able gulf  of  silence. 

It  was  late  when  he  reached  the  town  ;  few 
lights  shone  out  of  the  straggling  houses ;  but 
here  and  there  along  the  wide,  dim  avenue  of 
the  main  street  the  lamp-lit  bars  of  the  hotels 
still  sent  their  splashes  of  light  across  the 
verandahs  and  out  upon  the  bare  roadway. 

In  the  semi-darkness,  close  by  one  of  these 
pathways  of  soiled  radiance,  a  youth  was  leaning 
his  forehead  against  his  arm,  thrown  dejectedly 
across  a  verandah  post ;  the  whole  figure  drooped 
miserably.  As  the  drover  came  near,  he  saw 
that  it  was  his  own  lad,  the  youngest  of  the 
stockmen — the  same  who  had  learned  geography 
from  the  hide  of  Atlas — and  that  the  cook,  who 
was  seated  on  a  bench  against  the  wall,  was 
delivering  to  the  boy  a  drunken  harangue.  The 
old  man  was  still  half  freebooter,  half  moralist ; 
but  the  stimulus  of  intoxication  had  set  the  two 
forces  disputing  within  him,  like  boys  playing  at 
"  King  o'  the  Castle,"  for  possession  of  his 
thoughts  and  tongue;  with  the  result  that  his 
exhortation  touched  in  quick  succession  the 
extremes  of  ribaldry  and  devoutness.     With  one 

68 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    PIONEERS 

breath  he  would  set  forth  in  unstinted  freedom 
of  imagery  the  delirious  joys  that  were  purchas- 
able in  town  for  the  hard-earned  cheque  of  the 
Bush-worker  ;  in  the  next  he  would  come  to  the 
right-about  and  discourse  with  cold-drawn,  puritan 
unctuousness,  applying  a  wealth  of  sulphurous 
detail  to  prophecies  of  the  wrath  that  was  ready 
in  the  world  to  come  for  sinners  against  the 
moral  laws  of  this  life. 

The  note  of  supreme  authority  in  the  old 
man's  voice  died  out  of  it  when  he  heard  orders 
to  him  to  turn  in  sternly  repeated  several  times 
in  the  drover's  voice.  He  arose,  weeping,  and 
shuffled  into  an  unlighted  room,  breathing  softly 
to  himself  among  his  sobs  a  mixture  of  vague 
blasphemies  and  an  inextricable  tangle  of  refer- 
ences to  graves,  and  sorrows,  and  grey  hairs. 

"  What's  the  trouble,  Matt  ?  "  the  drover  asked, 
as  the  cook's  muttering  died  away. 

"Who,  me?  Oh,  Vm  all  right";  the  lad 
rolled  his  head  forlornly  on  his  forearm. 

"  Come  along  down  the  road  a  bit ;  "  and,  when 
they  stood  alone,  "  Now  then,  sonny,  there's 
nobody  listening  but  me." 

The   boy  set  himself  up  defiantly.      "  What's 

the  old want,  then,  slingin'  his  pitch  about 

town,    and    his preachin',  and    me   has    to 

see  them  other  two  off  in   the  morning  by  the 

69 


DINK1NBAR 

train  for  Melbourne,  mind  you ;  and  me  has 
to  start  back — all  that  blinded  way  back — to  the 
station  with  the  horses.  Oh  no,"  with  desperate 
composure,  "  fm  all  right." 

The  drover  paced  quietly  back  and  forth  as 
the  boy  poured  out  his  griefs.  At  one  end  of  his 
walk  he  faced  the  line  of  the  street,  and  could 
mark  where  the  railway  building  topped  the 
lower  houses ;  at  the  other,  the  stars  showed 
clear  to  the  horizon.  He  stopped  once  in  his 
patrol,  facing  towards  where  the  road  was  swal- 
lowed at  its  outward  end  in  the  starlit  plain.  He 
took  a  mighty  breath  and  returned  to  the  lad. 

"  Never  been  in  town,  Matt  ?  " 

"  Except  you  call  this  here  sandy  bug- walk  a 
town.     A  was  born  under  a  bullock- wagon." 

"  Well,  you  might  as  well  take  a  run  down, 
now  you're  here." 

"Eh?" 

"  You  go  along  with  Ned  and  Jerry  in  the 
morning,  to  Melbourne." 

"To  Mel—?  And  see  the  r—r— Races? 
Don't  pull  a  cove's  leg,  boss." 

"  I'm  not ;'  you  shall  go." 

"  G-a-w-d  ! ':  the  boy  breathed  in  awe;  "an' 
see  them  crowds — and  steamers — an~  the  sea  !  " 

"  Ay,  the  water-hole  that  wide  it  touches  the 
blue  sky.     The  whole  lot." 

70 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    PIONEERS 

The   boy's    arms    hung   loose,    and    he   stared 
stupidly  at  the  man  before  him.     "  The  horses  ! ' 
he  shouted  suddenly. 

"  I'll  take  'em  back.  There's  no  grass  here  ; 
they  must  start  right  away." 

The  lad  came  nearer,  and  looked  close  into 
the  drover's  face  with  a  suspicious  shrewdness. 
"  You'll  take  'em  back  overland  ?  and  you  the 
boss  ?  and  you  won't  go  to  Melbourne  ?  " 

The  drover  shook  his  head.  "  Not  this  trip, 
anyway,"  he  added.  "  I — I've  business  on  the  way 
up.  I'm  after — bulls — for  the  station."  He  caught 
the  boy's  arm  and  shook  it.  "  Tell  'em  that  when 
they  ask,  Matt — bulls.     See  ?  " 

"  I'll  be  damned !  "  the  boy  said  gently.  "  But 
I'll  tell  em."  Then  he  shuffled,  and  began,  in 
a  flat  sing-song,  "  I'm  sure  I'm  very  much 
obliged " 

"  Think  of  the  old  man  there,  then,  and  don't 
go  mucking  round  pubs,  that's  all.  Kick  up  your 
heels  every  other  way  but  that." 

"  So  help  me  Christ ! ':  The  lad  held  out  a  hand, 
and  the  man  shook  it.  As  they  parted  at  the 
verandah,  the  lad  stood  a  moment  and  watched 
the  elder  go  away.  "  It  licks  me,"  he  said  to  him- 
self ;   "  the  boss  is  a  ringer,  but .     Start  back 

there  ?  —  Do   a  four-month   crawl  away  back  to 
yon  God-forgotten  heap  o'  road  metal  they  call 

7i 


DINKINBAR 

Dinkinbar  Station  ?  " — he  jerked  a  thumb  towards 
the    Northern    road — "  and    him    might    see   the 

Races  ?     Bulls  be ."     And    he    sought   his 

bed. 

There  is  always  a  name  wanting  from  the  toast- 
list  of  the  dinners  that  men  eat  in  London  when 
they  gather  together  to  count  the  gains  and  glorify 
the  spread  of  our  Colonial  Empire.  It  is  the 
name  of  the  pioneer  who  goes  out  to  the  new 
lands,  but  does  not  return.  It  may  be  right  that 
his  name  should  be  missing.  It  is  not  held  seemly 
that  a  nation  of  shopkeepers  should  drink  success 
to  bankruptcy  ;  a  race  of  sportsmen  does  not  toast 
the  loser  ;  the  children  and  fathers  of  an  Empire 
that  is  knit  and  armoured  by  the  imperial  cement 
of  Mammon-worship — which  is  snobbery  in  the 
large — such  men  do  not  feel  called  upon  to  glorify 
the  broken  lives. 

The  stamp  of  unsuccess  is  set  upon  this  pioneer  ; 
he  is  a  bankrupt,  he  runs  to  lose,  and  is  a  failure. 
He  is  the  unredeemed  pledge  of  civilisation,  the 
man  before  his  time,  the  one  who  sows  that  his 
followers  may  reap.  It  is  written  that  his  forgotten 
bones  shall  serve  to  stake  the  boundaries  of  his 
people's  territory. 

He  is  the  man  who,  single-handed,  marks  the 
line  out  into  the  waste  lands   along  which  is  to 

72 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    PIONEERS 

follow  later  the  baggage-train  that  bears  the  first 
blessings  of  civilisation — rum,  rifles,  commercial 
principles,  religion,  and  the  Flag,  to  hurry  the 
heathen  to  a  better  world,  that  the  white  man, 
by  the  grace  of  God,  may  flourish  in  his  stead. 
Under  the  hands  of  these  second  comers  the  idle 
acres  wax  fruitful  where  the  pioneer  has  starved  ; 
and  across  the  threshold  of  settlement,  out  into 
the  wilderness,  there  lies  the  faint  trail ;  and  out 
there,  twenty  years'  journey  ahead  for  the  bearers 
of  the  blessings  of  enlightenment,  toils  the  pioneer, 
his  face  turned  away  from  home. 

So  he  moves  on,  the  picket  of  an  army  that 
follows  in  his  footsteps,  yet  knows  him  not.  The 
solitude  that  he  went  out  to  subdue  has  absorbed 
him  into  itself  instead,  and  he  is  a  stranger  to  his 
people.  Thus  he  does  not  come  back  to  them  ; 
and  that  is  how,  when  some  of  the  men,  who  have 
helped  to  make  our  colonies,  dine  together  in 
London,  the  name  of  the  lost  pioneer  is  not  heard. 

Shall  we  not  toast  him  ?  Here's  to  him  ! 
Here's  to  them  all !  Comrades  of  the  Great  Lost 
Regiment,  the  one  that  goes  before  the  flag,  whose 
roster  is  unkept  —  the  men  who  fight  to  lose, 
that  we  who  follow  them  may  win.  Drink  to  it, 
Britons !  Drink,  all  standing,  to  the  Pioneers ; 
but  drink  to  the  dregs,  and  then  turn  down  the 
glass,  in  silence,  for  there  is  none  to  answer  you. 

73 


DINKINBAR 

When  the  young  drover  trucked  the  last  of  his 
mob  in  the  railway  yards  and  turned  away,  smitten 
with  a  vague  loneliness  and  remorse,  and  yet  with  a 
horror  of  distaste  upon  him,  too,  for  the  roar  and 
racket  of  a  strange  city,  and  when  the  mild  voice 
of  the  old  hand  from  the  stockyard  rail  set  at  peace 
the  jarring  humours  in  him,  it  was  the  voice  of  the 
pioneer  that  called  to  him,  out  from  the  land  of 
sundown. 

The  answering  note  to  it  that  sang  in  him 
showed,  unknown  to  himself,  that  the  wilderness 
had  set  its  mark  upon  him.  The  voice  was  pitched 
in  the  right  key  to  remind  him  that  out  there  was 
peace ;  the  town  ahead  of  him  had  become  a 
populous  desolation. 

The  same  man,  too,  as  he  rode  leisurely,  many 
weeks  later,  with  the  setting  sun  on  his  left  hand, 
towards  the  lonely  Dinkinbar  out-station,  seemed 
to  find  his  surroundings  as  soothing  as  his  thoughts 
of  the  blare  and  bustle  of  a  town  had  been  dis- 
,  tressful. 

It  was  in  that  moment  of  time  when  the  earth, 
having  lain  all  day  in  a  staring  monotony  of 
colour,  kindles  suddenly  into  a  glory  of  tawny 
and  purple- red  and  golden-green.  The  level 
valley  of  the  sward  tapered  to  a  point  where  its 
flanking  ridges  met ;  and  there,  half  hidden 
amongst   the    trees,    the   bark  walls  of  the  out- 

74 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    PIONEERS 

station  glowed  like  plates  of  burnished  copper. 
On  the  ridges,  the  lumps  of  naked  basalt,  the  dull 
red  earth,  and  the  tussocks  of  half-sere  grass  all 
shone  for  the  moment  like  heaped-up  riches  ;  even 
the  black-holed,  scant-leaved  ironbarks  flamed  like 
huge  exotics.  Down  the  centre  of  the  little  valley, 
cleaving  the  greensward,  ran  a  liquid  ribbon  of 
water  between  low  banks,  with  the  rich  black  soil, 
here  and  there  invaded  and  concealed  by  curving 
brows  of  green  sod,  showing  in  miniature  cliffs  or 
in  shelving  beaches  where  the  cattle  came  to  drink. 
The  water,  clear-drawn  and  cold  from  its  source 
among  the  black  ranges,  ran  with  a  merry,  noise- 
less bustle,  and  was  gay  upon  its  surface  with  a 
changing  multitude  of  reflections. 

The  man  drew  rein  and  looked  about  him.  Far 
back  amongst  the  ranges  there  rose  the  strong, 
clear  trumpeting  of  a  bull ;  a  flock  of  pink-breasted 
parrots  swept  past  him  with  a  silken  rush  of  wings, 
whirled  downward  as  if  by  word  of  command, 
settled  and  spread  along  the  water,  and  chattered 
at  their  drinking.  The  yellow  sunlight  struck 
amongst  the  hair  of  the  horse's  neck  in  little  mists 
of  many-coloured  fire.  The  whole  arch  of  heaven 
was  stainless.  From  a  huge  height  above  the 
western  ridge,  a  hawk  was  wheeling  downward  in 
a  mighty  spiral.  The  horse  stood  like  a  statue, 
with  ears  pricked  ;  then  his  chest  filled  and  sank, 

75 


DINKINBAR 

making  the  leather  cringe,  and  he  plucked  gently 
forward  on  the  bit.  The  rider  loosed  up  the  reins 
and  rode  slowly  on. 

He  was  still  two  hundred  yards  from  the  hut, 
when  he  pulled  up  once  more.  The  sunlight 
glory  had  died  away  from  the  earth  more  quickly 
than  it  had  come ;  the  face  of  the  stream  was 
already  leaden.  The  horseman  looked  above 
him.  A  thin  black  thread  was  drawn  across 
the  blue  ;  it  was  the  telegraph  wire,  and  away  to 
west  and  east  the  posts  that  carried  it  stood  stark 
and  even  in  a  row.  Where  their  line  crested  the 
ridses,  the  forest  timber  that  had  been  felled  to 
make  space  for  them  lay  bleaching  about  their  feet 
like  the  bones  of  dead  leviathans.  The  wire 
hummed  its  metallic  note  of  sleepless  hurry,  and 
as  the  man  listened  and  looked,  the  thin  peace- 
devouring  song  plucked  his  thoughts  from  their  twi- 
light slumbrousness  and  sent  them  spinning  abroad 
as  swiftly  as  the  invisible  current  overhead.  Once 
before — how  long  ago  was  it  since  he  had  started 
on  the  droving  trip  ? — it  had  sung  to  him  its  song 
of  life,  and  he  had  stood  to  listen.  Then  his  mind 
had  run,  as  now,  away  down  the  track  of  the  wire, 
down  the  long  line  of  the  naked  posts — the  line 
that  strode  the  continent  amongst  the  felled  tree- 
trunks  as  down  a  hurricane-track — to  the  splendid 
turmoil  of  the  town.      His  blood  had  thrilled  to 

76 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    PIONEERS 

it ;  he  had  looked  back  guiltily,  longingly,  towards 
the  unlighted  hut,  whence  had  come  a  sound  of 
moaning  ;  then  he  had  spurred  his  horse  to  a  gallop 
down  the  green  flat,  without  looking  behind  him, 
as  though,  had  he  lingered,  the  moaning  thing 
might  have  clung  to  him  and  held  him  from  his 
own  kind.  And  now,  as  he  faced  the  out-station 
hut  again  and  felt  in  his  ears  the  restless  song  of 
the  wire,  a  nameless  dread  laid  hold  of  him,  and 
the  sweat  started  on  his  forehead.  The  city  had 
cried  out  to  him,  and  he  had  come ;  but  when  he 
had  drawn  near  it,  what  was  the  dumb  thing  that 
had  laid  hold  of  him,  bidding  him  turn  back  again  ? 
Why  did  the  distance  call  ? — where  was  the  right  ? 
— whose  was  the  wrong  ? 

The  horse  pulled  at  the  bit  again,  and  struck  the 
ground  impatiently  with  a  forefoot  and  whinnied 
lightly  ;  the  rider  had  sat  still  in  the  saddle  till 
the  twilight  had  crept  about  him,  and  the  hut  was 
already  hidden  amongst  the  trees.  A  pattering 
like  the  sound  of  naked  feet  sounded  among  the 
dry  leaves  about  the  hut,  and  stopped.  The  rider 
turned  his  horse  from  the  sound  and  looked  up  at 
the  wire,  and  remained  looking  upward  while  the 
footsteps  sounded  again,  paused,  and  came  on 
repeatedly,  as  if  working  towards  him  from  tree 
to  tree.  The  horseman  sat  still  and  closed  his 
eyes,  turning  his  face  still  towards  the  wire. 

77 


DINKINBAR 

"What  name  you,  white-fellow?"  It  was  a 
croaking  voice,  and  the  words  came  from  behind 
a  tree  not  twenty  yards  away. 

The  horseman  opened  his  eyes,  but  did  not 
look  round.     "  Who's  there  ?  "  he  called  sharply. 

"  Mardie — o-o-old  fella  Mardie,"  croaked  the 
voice;  "you  Nedie,  mine  thinkit." 

"  Yo-ai  (yes),  me,  Nedie.  Mardie,  where' s — 
which  way  stop  that  one  daughter  belong  you — 
Noorna  ?  " 

A  thin,  piteous  keening  sounded  from  behind 
the  tree.  It  was  nearly  dark  now ;  the  man  fell 
to  shaking  in  the  saddle.  "  God  forgive  me," 
he  whispered,  "  but  it's  the  best."  The  crying 
stopped,  and  he  repeated  the  question. 

"  That  one  little  fella  Noorna  dead,  plenty 
dead,"  wailed  the  voice — "  stop  longa  ground. 
That  one  he  say,  '  Nedie  go  'long,  big  fella  town, 
no  more  come  back,  me  die,  me  die,  me  die,"  and 
more  wailing  followed. 

The  horseman  without  a  word  faced  slowly 
round  the  way  he  had  come,  and  rode  back  along 
the  flat  with  his  head  falling  forward. 

"Nedie,  Nedie ! "  There  was  a  running  of 
light  footsteps  behind  him,  and  a  slim,  dusky 
little  shape  clad  in  a  single  garment  darted 
from  behind  the  tree,  flung  itself  down  by  the 
horse  and   clung  with  both  hands  to  the  rider's 

78 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    PIONEERS 

foot.  The  horse  stopped  of  his  own  accord,  and 
as  at  one  of  his  own  kind  gazed  round  bene- 
volently at  the  bowed  figure. 

The  man  looked  down,  breathing  deep  and 
slowly.      "  Noorna,"  he  said  dully,  "  Noorna." 

She  flung  out  both  hands  and  threw  back  her 
head,  looking  up  at  him  radiantly  as  she  knelt. 
"  Nedie,  Nedie,"  she  breathed  rapturously,  "you 
come  back."  Then  she  cowered  again,  and  taking 
his  foot  in  both  hands  she  pressed  it  on  her 
bowed  head  and  shuddered  like  a  frightened 
child.  "  Me  Noorna,  me  no  dead,"  she  sobbed 
brokenly;  "no  Mardie — me  mimicky  that  one — 
no  angeree  you  ?  So  glad,  me — too  glad,  too 
glad.  You  come  back."  She  moaned  and 
laughed  like  a  dumb  thing. 

He  reached  down  and  caught  one  of  the  round 
forearms,  and  she  rose  up  slowly.  He  pulled 
gently  on  the  arm  and  held  out  his  foot ;  she 
placed  one  of  hers  upon  it,  and  he  raised  her  up 
before  him  on  the  saddle.  He  held  her  to  him, 
and  she  snuggled  close  against  him,  still  sobbing 
and  crying  by  turns,  as  he  wheeled  the  horse 
towards  the  hut  again. 

They  were  still  a  dozen  paces  short  of  it  when 
the  clink  of  horse-shoes  along  the  stony  track 
beyond  it  reached  them  faintly.  The  horseman 
lowered  the  girl  softly,  with  a  whispered  caution 

79 


DINKINBAR 

to  her  to  come  when  he  called,  and  was  taking 
off  his  saddle  when  a  rider  from  the  lonely  tele- 
graph repeating-station  five  miles  away  drew  up 
at  the  hut. 

The  messenger,  overjoyed  at  finding  some  one 
at  the  out-station  when  he  had  counted  on  a 
lonely  night  ride  to  the  homestead,  stayed  till 
long  after  supper.  All  the  time  until  he  left  he 
talked  incessantly,  showing  the  greediness  of 
the  man  who  is  much  alone  for  the  sound  of 
his  own  voice,  recalling  disjointed  items  of  the 
world's  news  he  had  recently  heard  ticked  out  as 
they  crossed  the  basalt  ridge  on  their  way  to  and 
from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  furnishing  a  wild 
commentary  upon  them. 

As  the  tramp  of  the  messenger's  horse  died 
away  at  last  among  the  stones,  the  drover  leaned 
against  the  doorway  of  the  hut  with  the  message 
in  his  hand,  and  gazed  for  a  long  time  down  the 
dark  ridge  where,  by  the  water  at  its  foot,  the 
fire  at  the  blacks'  camp  glowed  sullenly.  A  sub- 
dued muttering  of  voices  rose  from  about  the  light. 

"  My  Uncle  Joseph  will  be  at  the  head  station 
to-morrow  night,  and  his  chummies  a  day  later," 
he  said  blankly,  as  if  the  words,  owing  to  many 
repetitions,  had  lost  their  meaning.  "  Oy, 
Noorna!"  he  called,  and  the  light  footsteps 
came  flying  towards  him  from  the  fire. 

80 


CHAPTER   V 
Going  a-Milking 

THE  horseman  started  late  on  his  lonely  ten- 
mile  ride  to  the  homestead  next  day,  and 
loitered  much  by  the  way,  making  many  fruitless 
detours  to  right  and  left  of  the  track  amongst 
distant  mobs  of  cattle,  at  which  he  gazed  long  and 
absently.  It  was  already  long  after  dark  when 
he  fell  in  with  six  cows  and  calves,  and,  smitten 
apparently  with  a  sudden  energy,  set  himself  to 
drive  them  to  the  station.  Under  the  lead  of  the 
oldest  cow,  the  little  mob  displayed  that  refine- 
ment of  aggravation — that  brute  rebellion  against 
common  sense  that  has  much  in  it  of  the  seeming 
malevolence  of  inanimate  things — which  has 
soured  and  broken  more  spirits  and  tempers  in 
the  Bush  than  bad  whiskey  has  ever  done.  The 
cattle  would  do  everything  but  keep  the  road,  and 
they  infected  the  man  behind  them  with  their 
blind  obstinacy.  It  was  midnight  when  he  yarded 
them,  and  by  then  he,  his  dog,  and  his  horse  were 
dazed  and  drunken  with  fatigue. 

As  he  swung  to  the  last  heavy  stockyard  gate 

81  o 


DINKINBAR 

and  pegged  it,  the  peace  that  comes  to  tired  men 
settled  down  upon  him.      He  leaned  his  forehead 
for  a  moment  on  a  rail,  folded  his  arms  upon  the 
next,  and  watched  the  cows  and  calves,  all  blown, 
baffled,    and    still    irritated    with    their   senseless 
systematic  revolt,  circle  uneasily  about  the  yard. 
The  staid  old  milker  who    had    originated    and 
fomented    all    the    weary    mischief    lunged    out 
wickedly  whenever  any  calf  but   her  own    came 
within  range  of  her  horns.     The  dog,  dead  beat, 
but   still    ready  to  martyr  himself  for  duty,   lay 
down  and  fell  to  extracting  the  burrs  from  his  hot 
feet.     The  horse,   though   his  breath   still    came 
hurriedly,  dozed,  and,  as  his  head  dropped,  roused 
the  man  with  a  pluck  at  the  bridle.     Then  the 
tired  stockman  went  across  the  trodden  flat  that 
lay  between  the  stockyard  and  the  house,  lifting 
each  heavy  foot  with  a  conscious  effort,  while  the 
dog  slunk  dutifully  behind,  and  the  weary  horse 
hung  back  drowsily  on  the  bridle.     The  home- 
stead   buildings    looked    black    and  still    against 
the  stars.      The   man,   having    turned   loose    his 
horse,  fought  with  the  powers  of  sleep  while  he 
cast  off  his  clothes  ;  he  lay  down,   stretched  his 
long   limbs  once,  then  his  hands  fell  slack,  even 
before  they  had  pulled  the  blankets  -to  his  chin. 

Time  was  blotted  out  for  him  until  he  suddenly 
awoke  with  all  his  senses  crystal-clear,   to  stare 

82 


GOING    A-MILKING 

upon  the  patch  of  sky  set  in  the  open  window- 
frame  where  the  stars  were  dissolving-  in  the 
dawn,  and  to  wonder  with  suspended  breath  what 
was  the  unaccustomed  sound  that  had  brought 
him  out  of  sleep.  It  was  something  clear  and 
faint,  befitting  the  early  twilight,  clear  as  a  call  in 
his  ear,  but  light  as  a  breath. 

Then  immediately  it  sounded  again — it  was  a 
slow  footstep  on  the  garden  path  beneath  his 
window.  It  stopped,  and  he  heard  the  faintest 
whisper,  as  of  falling  folds  of  drapery.  Some  one 
was  stooping  among  the  plants  ;  someone,  and  it 
was  a  woman,  was  humming  cosily  to  herself. 
But  who  ?  This  was  not  Aunt  Martha's  way, 
nor  yet  her  voice  ;  besides,  Aunt  Martha  was  not 
here.  Surely,  last  night  that  black  homestead 
had  been  untenanted — now  who,  or  what 

He  threw  back  his  blankets,  and  swung  out 
his  feet  to  the  earthen  floor — temperament  and 
training  had  combined  by  now  to  teach  him  the 
art  of  silence.  He  moved  along  the  floor,  and 
watched  the  pattern  of  the  little  treasured  garden- 
plots.  As  he  advanced,  the  walks  and  the  well- 
known  plants  and  bushes  came  stealthily  into 
view,  with  the  solemn  dawn-look  on  them  all, 
from  beneath  his  window-frame.  Then — most 
wondrous  thing — one  by  one  he  saw  besides  a 
mazy  curve  of  hair,  loose-knotted,  with  a  pink  ear 

83 


DINKINBAR 

half  hidden  in  its  masses,  and  the  line  of  temple, 
cheek,  and  chin  of  the  quarter-face  of  a  girl  in 
white,  who  was  stooping  down  to  run  slim  white 
fingers  amongst  the  leaves  in  the  little  bed  of 
English  violets.  She  plucked  none,  but  parted 
the  leaves  here  and  there,  and  looked  down  upon 
the  few  shy  and  struggling  alien  blossoms,  while 
she  sang  to  herself  in  the  woman's  way — little 
unpremeditated  minor  cadences. 

The  face  of  the  man  at  the  window  showed  at  first 
a  still  amaze,  and  then  was  wrung  as  if  with  pain. 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  he  withdrew  stealthily, 
keeping  his  eyes  upon  her  as  he  groped  for  gar- 
ments to  cover  his  nakedness.  When  his  hands 
had  found  these,  he  stole  to  a  corner  in  line  with 
the  window,  and  dressed  in  fearful  and  silent 
haste.  When  he  crept  to  the  window  for  another 
look,  she  was  standing  in  the  broadening  light 
with  her  back  to  him,  and  with  the  fingers  of  the 
right  hand  loosely  holding  the  left  forefinger 
behind  her,  while  with  head  tilted  backward,  so 
that  the  knot  of  her  hair  was  pressed  among  the 
gauzy  stuff  about  her  neck,  she  seemed  to 
watch  the  last  few  lingering  stars  as  they  melted 
out  of  the  brightening  firmament. 

As  the  man  came  out  of  his  room  and  went 
sidling  down  the  length  of  the  bachelors'  quarters 
towards  the  kitchen  at  the  other  end,  keeping  as 

84 


GOING    A-MILKING 

far  as  possible  out  of  sight  of  the  holy  ground  of 
the  garden  where  he  had  seen  the  Dawn  Maiden, 
the  whole  sky-line  was  already  ringed  about  with 
a  girdle  of  primrose  light  that  deepened  towards 
the  point  of  sunrise  into  golden-tawny,  topped  by 
a  rosy  flush. 

It  was  midway  in  the  hour  of  peace  that  falls 
with  morning  upon  the  Bush,  and  lasts  from  dawn 
until  the  sun  has  cleared  the  tree- tops  ;  the  un- 
easy things  of  the  night-time  had  hidden  them- 
selves, and  the  daylight  pests  of  earth  and  air 
were  waiting  for  the  warmth  to  thaw  their 
numbness.  Down  in  the  wide  resounding  chasm 
of  the  creek,  the  laughing  jackasses  rolled  out 
their  laughter  in  full  chorus,  and  a  magpie  high 
overhead  fluted  and  gurgled  his  song  of  the 
sunrise,  while  from  the  stockyard  came  in  phon 
and  antiphon  the  full  voices  of  the  laden  milkers 
outside  the  rails,  and  the  heart-searching,  hungry 
baby  notes  of  the  calves,  made  more  penetrating 
by  the  calf-pen  roof  that  acted  as  a  sounding- 
board. 

From  the  bench  outside  the  kitchen  door, 
where  the  milking  buckets  stood  bottom  upwards, 
ready  for  whosoever  should  do  the  Sunday 
milking,  to  the  yards  there  were  two  ways — one 
by  the  smithy;  the  other,  and  much  the  longer, 
round  by  the  garden  wall  and  the  house.     The 

85 


DINKINBAR 

man  examined  the  buckets  with  extravagant  care 
for  signs  of  the  dregs  of  former  milkings. 

He  was  five  feet  ten,  and  a  Saxon  ;  nevertheless 
he  whispered,  with  his  head  deep  in  one  of  the 
pails,  "  O  God,  who  is  it  ?  A  girl !  A  white 
girl !  A  lady !  And  I  am  an  unclean  beast. 
I'll  go  " — he  ended,  taking  a  bucket  handle  firmly 
in  each  hand — "  round  by  the  smithy."  And 
with  a  firm  step,  and  striving  vainly  after  an  ap- 
pearance of  unconsciousness,  he  started  for  the 
milking-yard,  going  by  way  of  the  garden. 

He  passed  along  the  rear  of  the  quarters, 
gripping  his  buckets  desperately.  The  white 
figure  was  still  in  the  garden ;  he  looked  straight 
ahead,  and  would  have  passed  grimly  without 
turning,  but  the  Dawn  Maiden  first  turned 
sharply  as  he  appeared,  and  then  ran  for  him 
with  a  little  cry. 

"  Ned,"  she  called,  as  she  ran,  holding  out  both 
hands,  "  Ned !  "  And  then,  as  they  faced  one 
another  across  the  wall,  and  he  looked  without 
moving,  she  thrust  her  two  hands  impulsively 
towards  him.  "  Ned,  speak  to  me! — it  is  you, 
isn  t  it  r 

The  two  metal  buckets  fell  with  a  clang,  and 
he  took  her  hands. 

"  Susie,"  he  said  quietly,  and  looked  at  her  so 
long  and  so    strangely    that  she  flushed    at   last 

86 


GOING    A-MILKING 

suddenly  over  neck  and  face,  and  plucked  lightly 
at  her  hands.  He  loosed  them  at  once,  and 
picked  up  the  buckets. 

"  Listen  what  a  row  there  is  groino-  on  at  the 
yards,"  he  said.  "  I  must  go  and  milk  at  once  "  ; 
and  he  stood  back  from  the  wall,  showing  her  his 
full  length,  and  looking  somewhat  sternly  in  the 
direction  of  the  yards  and  the  hoarse  tumult. 
"  I'm  milkman  to-day  ; "  he  brought  his  feet  to- 
gether as  if  gathering  himself  up  for  a  resolute 
move  to  his  work. 

She  read  an  invitation  in  the  pause.  "  Going 
a-milking,  Ned  ?  Oh,  may  I  come  too,  kind 
sir  ? — I'll  be  good,"  she  added  breathlessly. 

Ned  looked  up  and  scanned  her  with  a  master- 
ful, critical  air,  just  as  he  used  to  do  when  she 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  go  with  him  on  one  of 
his  boyish  foraging  expeditions. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said ;  "  but  you'd  better  bring 
a  wide  hat  if  you  have  one.  I'll  let  the  dogs  go 
and  meet  you  at  the  house  door." 

When  she  came  out,  tying  the  ribbons  of  a 
broad-brimmed  hat  beneath  her  chin,  he  was 
waiting  for  her,  and  behind  him  there  sat  erect 
and  exceedingly  stern  two  great  rough  grey-blue 
dogs,  who  both  rose  as  she  appeared  and  came 
over  to  her.  They  both  sniffed  at  her  skirts  and 
swung    their   tails   respectfully,   giving    her,   with 

87 


DINKINBAR 

drooping  ears,  a  steady  stare  from  beneath  shaggy 
eyebrows  out  of  rich  brown  eyes,  deep  with 
unfathomable  depths  of  solemnity  and  devotion 
to  duty,  but  tempered  with  a  hint  of  humour, 
severely  repressed  until  the  fit  and  proper  moment 
should  arrive  for  giving  way  to  it. 

"  That's  Bim,"  Ned  explained,  as  Susie  patted 
the  head  of  one,  who  moistened  his  lips  delicately ; 
"and  that's  Blucher,"  as  she  rubbed  the  right  ear 
of  the  other,  who  looked  up  in  her  face,  and 
gave  mouth  to  a  laboured  hollow  sound  that  was 
neither  a  yowl  nor  a  yawn  nor  a  bark,  but  was 
composed  of  all  three. 

"  It's  all  right,"  Ned  expounded  seriously,  as 
the  girl  started  slightly  ;  "  that  runs  in  Bluchers 
family,  that  noise.  They're  a  nervous  breed. 
He's  letting  you  know  he  acknowledges  you  as  a 
station  hand."  They  had  moved  towards  the 
stockyard  as  he  spoke,  and  both  the  dogs  were 
tacking  across  and  across  at  their  heels  with  a 
pre-occupied  air. 

Sounds  of  trumpetings  and  a  babel  of  querulous 
undertones  arrested  Ned,  and  Susie  followed  him 
to  a  little  outhouse  on  their  right.  He  raised  a 
shutter  in  the  door,  and  a  gaudy,  martial- looking 
cock  appeared  upon  the  threshold,  tilting  his  head 
to  scan  the  group  outside  suspiciously  with  a 
bright,  severe   red  eye,  while  the   crowding  con- 

88 


GOING    A-MILKING 

cremation  of  fowls  within  hustled  him  forward  as 
they  streamed  out  in  single  file  and  scattered 
away  to  forage. 

"  I  know  it's  late,"  Ned  explained  apologeti- 
cally, as  the  cock  cluttered  witheringly  at  him  ; 
"  but  it's  Sunday,  you  see,  and  you  know  what 
happens  sometimes  if  we  leave  your  front  door 
open  and  the  dingoes  get  in." 

When  they  neared  the  stockyard,  the  early 
sunlight,  fretted  by  the  trees,  had  barred  the 
whole  face  of  the  plain  with  golden  arabesques, 
and  their  own  shadows  had  come  to  stalk,  lank 
and  interminable,  like  new-created,  formless 
things,  beside  them  on  the  ground.  At  the 
further  side,  about  the  milking-yard,  the  answer- 
ing choruses  had  grown  to  a  persistent,  clamorous 
din.  As  they  rounded  the  massive  corner-post 
of  the  stockyard  they  beheld  several  elderly,  deep- 
bodied  cows  and  two  less  experienced  heifers  in 
a  row,  all  with  their  faces  close  to  the  rails,  all 
bellowing  together  distractedly,  while  in  the  open 
entrance  of  the  milking-yard  a  firm-set,  short- 
horned  matronly  cow  stood  broadside-on,  solidly 
barring  the  way  with  the  superior  manner  of  a 
policeman.  Her  eyes  were  half  closed  and  her 
cheeks  bulging  as  she  chewed  blandly  at  her 
cud  ;  but  as  the  milking  party  came  in  sight  she 
swallowed    her    mouthful    prematurely  and  faced 

89 


DINKINBAR 

about,  with  the  instinctive  obstinacy  of  her  race, 
setting  her  tail  where — according  to  the  rule  of 
right,  reason  and  expediency,  and  the  prompting 
of  her  own  maternal  wants  and  desires — her  head 
should  have  been  :  that  is,  inside  the  yard.  All 
the  other  animals  followed  her  lead,  and  came  to 
the  right-about  in  a  sudden  silence,  forming  them- 
selves up  in  what  Susie  took  to  be  a  charging 
line.  She  hung  behind  Ned  for  one  terrified  in- 
stant in  the  shelter  of  the  great  corner-post,  but 
was  at  his  shoulder  again  before  he  had  noticed 
her  lagging  ;  and  she  went  on  with  him  steadily, 
though  her  heart  seemed  to  be  in  her  throat. 

He  pulled  up,  keeping  well  back  from  the  cows 
in  the  unprotected  open,  and  began  to  harangue 
them  sternly  on  the  evils  of  insubordination. 
Susie  was  shaking  in  every  limb,  and  uncon- 
sciously pressed  lightly  against  him. 

"Susie!"  He  turned  to  her  wonderingly. 
"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I'm — I'm — fr "     She  swallowed  the  word, 

but  sent  a  scared  look  along  the  embattled  line  of 
horns.     "  Won't  they  t — trample  you  ?  " 

He  shut  his  teeth  hard  upon  the  beginnings 
of  a  laugh.  "  You're  at  the  antipodes,"  he  said 
gently.  "  Everything's  upside  down  here.  Bush 
cattle,  remember,  run  from  you  unless  they're 
cornered  and  terrified — never  at  you." 

90 


GOING    A-MILKING 

Her  shivering  had  ceased  instantly.  The  blood 
flowed  back  to  her  cheeks.  She  would  have 
|  pinched  the  hairy  brown  arm  nearest  to  her,  but 
Ned  had  turned  away  and  was  storming  at  the 
cows,  who  had  now  broken  up  their  fighting 
formation,  and  were  making  for  the  gate,  where 
the  officious  matron,  still  firmly  planted,  kept 
them  at  bay  with   her  horns. 

"  That's  Maamie,"  said  Ned,  as  the  old  cow 
retired  before  the  press  of  numbers,  still  doggedly 
fencing,  "  boss  of  the  milking-yard  just  at  present, 
and  only  happy  when  she's  being  a  nuisance." 

The  last  to  come  to  the  open  gate  was  one  of 
the  younger  heifers,  who  was  in  a  condition  of 
extreme  nervousness  when  she  arrived  there. 
She  would  have  passed  in  peacefully,  but  that 
Maamie,  spying  her  nervousness,  and  realising 
that  here  was  the  last  opportunity  likely  to  offer 
on  this  occasion  for  lodging  her  protest  against 
order  and  good  government,  plunged  forward  and 
planted  a  horn  firmly  against  the  timid  heifer's 
brisket.  The  frightened  creature  swung  away, 
and  the  fear  in  her  mounted  up  to  terror  when 
she  saw  that  the  man,  the  dogs,  and,  worse  than 
all,  the  fearful  white  skirt,  had  drawn  up  and  were 
close  upon  her.  The  crimson  fire  flamed  out  in 
her  eyes ;  she  gave  one  mad  bellow,  and  charged 
for  the  open  wilds.     The  hot  blast  of  the  heifer's 

9i 


DINKINBAR 

breath  as  she  charged    by    set    the   girl's   skirts 
swinging. 

Susie  looked  open-eyed  at  the  danger  till  it 
was  past,  and  then,  still  feeling  the  protecting  arm 
about  her  that  had  swung  her  aside,  she  buried 
her  face  unashamed  in  Ned's  neck,  and  clung  to 
his  shoulder  and  sobbed  noiselessly.  "  Blucher! 
Bim !  Fetch  her  back,"  she  heard  above  her, 
and  felt  the  sinewy  throat  vibrate  against  her 
ear  to  the  words  as  the  scurry  of  the  dogs'  flying 
feet  died  away. 

She  clung  a  little  tighter,  but  did  not  lift  her 

head  as  the  arm  about  her  half  carried  her  into 

the  yard.      Presently  she  turned  her  head  quietly, 

without   raising  it,  and  caught   for  an   instant   a 

foreshortened  glimpse  of  the  face  above  her,  the 

view  that  intensifies  the  expression  of  a  face  by 

concentrating    the    features,    as    we    read    those 

attenuated  puzzle-writings  by  tilting  the  card  and 

setting  the  letters  end-on.      He  must  have  thought 

her  eyes  still   hidden.      The   face   had  a  lost,  fell 

look  upon   it.     Somehow  he  had  armed  himself 

with  a  heavy  stick,  and   the  right   hand   holding 

it  was  raised  to  strike  ;  the  left  still  held  her  to 

him.     To  strike,  with  a  face  like  that,  was  to  do 

murder,  and  Susie  raised  a  hand  and  cried  out  as 

the  stick  fell  with  a  hideous  hollow  blow  on — on 

the  nose  of  Maamie,  who  had  sought  to  follow  the 

absconding  heifer  and  leave  the  yard. 

92 


GOING    A-MILKING 

Susie  raised  her  bewildered  head,  and  was 
pushed  gently  into  the  shelter  of  the  corner  post. 
The  heifer  was  coming  at  a  headlong  gallop  for 
the  yard,  with  Bim  and  Blucher  biting  at  her 
heels  like  avenging  fiends. 

As  the  three  shot  within  the  angle  of  the  yards, 
the  dogs  desisted  at  Ned's  command,  and  came 
on  quietly  like  two  uncoupled  railway  cars  behind 
a  locomotive,  while  the  heifer  thundered  on  into 
the  sanctuary  of  the  yard,  to  be  met  by  a  prod 
from  the  irreconcilable  Maamie  and  by  smothered 
mutterings  of  sympathy  from  the  other  cows. 
Bim  and  Blucher  sat  down  side  by  side,  rolling 
their  heads  and  panting  luxuriously,  with  an  air 
of  congratulating  one  another  on  the  successful 
spin. 

Ned  closed  the  gate,  and  then,  with  a  hand 
upon  it,  he  stood  a  while  looking  down  at  his 
clumsy  boot  as  it  swung  backwards  and  forwards, 
smoothing  the  rumpled  sand. 

Susie  had  her  anxious  attention  on  the  humili- 
ated heifer,  and  on  this  new  perplexity  of  Ned's 
behaviour,  in  turn.  The  chorus  of  cows  and 
calves  had  broken  out  afresh,  now  that  no  further 
postponement  of  milking  seemed  possible. 

"  Susie,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  her  so  quickly 
that  she  jumped  ;  "  it's  such  a  beastly  rough  wel- 
come.     No,   no,   you're  all  right,"  he  added,  fol 

93 


DINKINBAR 

lowing  her  eyes,  "now  the  brute's  safe  in  the  yard. 
But — but — is  it  you  ?  is  it  you  really  ?  " 

"Goodness,  Ned!"  she  returned,  aghast  almost, 
after  what  had  already  passed  at  the  return  of  his 
first  amaze  at  seeing  her ;  "  who  else  ?  Haven't 
we  let  out  the  fowls,  and  didn't  you  introduce 
me  to  the  dogs,  and  save  my  life  from  that  wild 

beast  ?      What  in  the Oh  !  " — she  looked 

at  him  with  parted  lips — "  it's  not  possible  you 
didn't  know  I   was  coming." 

"  I  didn't,  then." 

"  Ned,  you  got  no  letters  at  Melbourne  ?" 

"  I— I  didn't  go  to  Melbourne."  He  looked 
down,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  guiltily. 

"  And  when  you  saw  me  in  the  garden  ? " 

"  I    had    no "        He    looked    out    gravely 

through  the  gate,  across  the  plain.     "  I  thought 
you  were " 

"  What,  Ned  ?     A— a  what  ?     Tell  me  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  spirit.  I  did.  I  called 
you  the — the — you'll  laugh." 

"Ah,  Ned!" 

"  The  Dawn  Maiden,  then." 

He  was  still  looking  out  across  the  plain. 

She  answered  with  a  little  cooing,  like  slurred 
notes  on  a  muted  string. 

"  But  I  did,"  he  went  on  doggedly,  like  a 
schoolboy  reluctantly  confessing  his  sins. 

94 


GOING    A-MILKING 

"And  you  didn't  know  me?"  She  made  a 
little  wondering  shake  of  the  head. 

He  was  smoothing  the  sand  with  his  boot 
again,  and  watching  it  earnestly.  He  shook  his 
head  slowly.  In  the  rusty,  rumpled  hat-crown 
that  was  presented  to  her,  there  was  a  jagged 
hole.  He  looked  almost  loutish  when  he  stooped 
that  way,  she  thought,  what  with  the  burst  hat 
and  baggy  shirt  and  trousers,  showing  gathered 
stains  of  many  perfunctory  cold-water  washings 
in  them,  and  the  big  boots.  And  yet,  an  instant 
ago,  her  finest  sympathies  had  thrilled  in  answer 
to  him  when  he  had  called  her. 

She  stamped  her  foot  at  him.  "  Ned  ! "  she 
called  from  the  borderland  of  tears,  "  it's  all  so 
queer.  You — you  knew  me  when  I  called  you 
— you  took  my  hands  ?  "  The  ragged  hat-crown 
nodded  slowly.  "  And  all  of  a  sudden  it  was  like 
old  times  again." 

He  did  not  look  up,  but  he  seemed  to  join  with 
her  in  the  dim  chase  after  words  to  voice  their 
mutual  bewilderment.  "  It  was,"  he  answered 
carefully,  "  after  the  first  look — after  I  dropped 
the  buckets.  Only — only  there  was  a  wall  be- 
tween us,"  he  added  in  a  harder  voice.  "  But  to 
find  you  in  the  garden  at  Dinkinbar — well,  it  was 
too  wonderful  to  begin  to  try  and  talk  about  it. 
Wasn't  it  ?  " 

95 


DINKINBAR 

This  was  better,  she  felt.  They  had  both, 
with  tactful,  consenting  silence,  during  that  first 
unfathomable  pause,  run  back  the  trail  of  the 
vanished  years  to  that  point  far  back  in  their 
lives  where  their  paths  had  been  one ;  there,  as 
boy  and  girl,  they  had  joined  hands. 

They  would  go  back  again  now.  "  It  was,  oh, 
it  was,"  she  agreed  joyfully,  yielding  up  the  lead 
to  him. 

"  It  just  seemed  as  if  we  had  turned  boy  and 
girl  again,"  he  said  with  comrade-like  garrulity, 
and  looked  out  between  the  gate-bars ;  "  it 
seemed  the  only  thing  to  do." 

It  was  the  very  marrow  of  her  thought.  "  It 
took  away  all  the  awkwardness,"  she  concurred 
with  heartiness.  "  The  dogs  seemed  to  know 
me  for — for  your  old  chum,  Ned." 

He  glanced  at  her  with  an  answering  sparkle, 
but  turned  his  eye  to  the  plain  again.  "  Like 
Mop.     Remember  Mop,  Sue  ?  " 

"  Remember!  The  way  I  wept  when  he  got 
himself  tarred  somehow,  and  you  threatened  to 
put  a  match  to  him  unless  I  lent  you  my — was  it 
my  paint-box  ?  " 

"  No — the  little  beast  that  I  was — some  sew- 
ing arrangement  you  had,"  he  corrected.  "  I  had 
my  eye  on  the  silk  in  it,  and  I  remember  I  stole 
it  nearly  all." 

96 


GOING    A-MILKING 

"  Nonsense  ! ':  she  returned  almost  warmly  ; 
"  besides,  it  did  me  good,  and  look  at  the  lots  of 
things  you  gave  me.  I  believe  Mop  saved  my  life, 
though,  the  way  he  tore  off  for  the  kitchen,  bark- 
ing frantically,  and  pulled  at  the  maid's  clothes 
the  time  I  fell  into  the — the — oh  !   I  forget." 

"  I  remember.  By  the  cow-house.  Call  it  the 
liquid  fertiliser." 

As  he  uttered  his  euphemism,  he  looked  up  to 
find  her  eyes  fixed  on  him  in  a  little  spasm  of 
childish  horror  at  the  awkwardness  of  that  last 
reminiscence  of  their  youth. 

They  broke  simultaneously  into  a  laugh,  that 
sobered,  however,  into  a  long,  deep  gaze  of 
mutual  wonderment.  It  seemed  as  though  they 
stood  each  one  a  child,  each  surveying  the  other 
with  reverential  awe  as  one  who  had  grown  to 
full,  remote,  mysterious  man-  and  womanhood  in 
a  single  night. 

"  Poor  old  ragged  Mop  ! "  she  continued  pre- 
sently, but  dreamily  rather,  for  their  eyes  still 
clung  together,  dealing  in  mysteries.  "  Yes,  he 
saved  me  from  a  liq — a  watery  grave  that  time. 
And  you,  Ned,  you  saved  my  life  this  morning. 
Now  there — we're  grown  up,  but  look — just 
think  how  like  it  all  is  to  old  times ;  look  at  the 
way  I  flung  myself  into  your  arms  when  that 
animal  frightened  me  just  now.     Fancy  me  doing 

97  h 


DINKINBAR 

that  with  a  stranger!  It's  just  like  old  times  still, 
isn't  it,  Ned  ?  " 

For  many  seconds  he  continued  to  gaze  at  her, 
answering  nothing,  and  her  cheeks  grew  hot. 
"No,"   he   said  at  last,   "it   isn't!" 

She  remembered,  as  he  spoke,  that  fore- 
shortened view  of  his  face  and  the  lost  look  upon 
it.  Something  of  the  look  had  returned,  but  with 
more  in  it  of  forlornness  than  of  rage.  That 
guide-rope  of  the  past  was  slipping  from  her  ;  she 
clutched  at  it  desperately. 

"  But  it  is,  it  is,"  she  cried  pleadingly.  "  See 
here,  Ned,  it  was  all  my  fault — some  strange 
feeling.  But  look  how  big  you're  grown,  and 
with  a  beard,  and  so  brown.  I  think  you  almost 
frightened  me.  But  look  how  soon  I  found  you, 
the  same  old — old — dear  old — brave  old — Ned 
I've  come  all  the  way  to  s — see."  The  "s"  came 
to  her  tongue  for  "  save,"  but  she  made  a  light- 
ning change.  "  Look  how  I  clung  to  you  when 
there  was  danger,  just  as  I  used  to.  What  differ- 
ence can  there  be  ?  " 

"  Stop,  Sue,  stop  !  '  he  said  hoarsely,  and  a 
bucket  he  had  stooped  to  lift  clattered  in  his 
hand.  "  That  was  it,  just  that,  when  you  clung 
to  me,  that  showed  me.  It  seemed  .as  if  it  might 
be  like  old  times  till  then.  But,  you  remember 
there    was    a   wall    between    us.     Oh,    there's    a 

98 


GOING    A-MILKING 

world.  I  saw  it  then.  I'm  an  unci — "  (he  re- 
membered his  own  voice  in  the  hollow  of  the 
bucket,  and  he,  too,  changed  the  word),  "an  un- 
couth beast.  And  you're  a — a — I  think  I'm 
frightened  of  you."  His  utterance  tripped  be- 
tween weak  laughter  and  a  sob. 

"I'm  Sue,  your  old  Sukie,  there!"  she  said 
defiantly.  "  We've  climbed  trees,  Ned,  you  and 
I  ;  we  can  still  manage  stone  walls.  Fie,  oh 
you  goose !  And  travelling's  easy  now — the 
width  of  the  world  shan't  keep  old  friends  apart. 
Do  you  see  me,  sir  ? " 

She  drew  up  straight  and  slim,  and  held  her 
skirts  to  her  and  tossed  her  head  back.  The 
broad  hat  threw  a  wavy  line  of  shade  from  tem- 
ple to  chin  ;  shadow  and  sun  showed  up  the  face 
in  a  subtle  and  eminently  kissable  variety  of 
winsomeness. 

She  made  as  if  to  run  into  his  arms,  and  for  an 
instant  his  face  brightened ;  but  he  stepped  back 
immediately,  swinging  the  bucket  between  them, 
and  turned  to  the  gate  again  with  a  scowl  in  his 
forehead  that  might  lie  upon  the  faces  of  the 
lost  and  damned,  or  might  signify  merely  coltish 
diffidence  and  a  boyish  horror  of  caresses.  In 
the  next  instant  he  was  shouting  welcomes  to 
the  incarnation  of  matter-of-fact  that  had  strolled 
into  his  sight  in  the  form  of  Mr.  Joseph  Heyrick. 

99 


CHAPTER  VI 
The  Tyranny  of  Trifles 

HUL-L-O-O  there!"  Ned  roared  joyfully  ; 
"if  it  isn't  Uncle  Joe!" 

"Hullo,  lad,  hullo ! ':  Uncle  Joseph  answered 
reposefully  and  without  hurrying.  "  Morning, 
Susie.  Found  him,  have  you  ?  Middling  fit, 
Ned,  eh  ?  " 

"  Middling.  And  you — you're  more  than  mid- 
dling fat,  Uncle  Joe." 

"  None  of  your  impudence." 

By  this  time  Uncle  Joseph  had  been  admitted 
into  the  yard.  The  two  men  surveyed  one 
another  carefully  from  top  to  toe.  Uncle  Joseph's 
hands  did  not  stir  from  his  coat  pockets,  and  Ned 
likewise  made  no  advance  towards  a  handshak- 
ing. Susie  looked  on  at  the  laconic  greeting  with 
an  air,  outwardly,  of  lively  interest.  Uncle 
Joseph  turned  to  her  with  sternly  repressed  pride. 
"  Like  a  chunk  of  ironbark,  isn't  he,  Susie  ? " 
Then  he  nodded  towards  the  main  stockyard. 
"What's  the  little  mob  of  cows  and  calves  in 
there  for  ?  " 

TOO 


THE    TYRANNY  OF    TRIFLES 

"  Ho-ho  ! "  laughed  Ned  ;  "  mean  to  say  you've 
forgotten  old  Strawberry  Jam  that  nearly  killed 
me  when  we  broke  her  in  ?  You'll  forget  the 
name  of  the  station  next." 

"  Forget  your  grandmother's  needle ! "  Uncle 
Joseph  returned  hotly.  "  I'd  as  soon  forget  my 
prayers  ;  's  if  I  didn't  know  every  old  milker  on 
the  run.  Must  have  been  behind  the  other  ones, 
she  must." 

"  Of  course ;  that's  like  Strawberry  Jam's 
modesty,  isn't  it  ?  I  brought  the  others  to  break 
in  for  milkers.  Nice  job  they  gave  me  to  drive, 
too. — I  say,  Uncle  Joe,"  he  added  comfortingly, 
"it's  all  right;   I  won't  let  on  to  these  chummies 

of  yours  that  you    don't   know   your   own " 

But  here,  with  a  well-judged  kick,  Uncle  Joseph 
sent  the  empty  bucket  spinning  from  Ned's 
hand. 

"  He's  clean  out  of  hand,  the  brat,"  the  old 
squatter  remarked  beamingly  to  Susie.  "  And 
I'll  let  the  chummies  know,"  he  stormed  at  Ned, 
"  that  milking  on  this  run's  got  to  be  over  by 
sunrise,  or  thereabout.  Look  at  you  ! — not  a  cow 
milked,  and  it's  close  on  breakfast-time." 

Ned  had  rushed  away,  and  was   now  by  the 
milking- bail  vigorously  dusting  out  the  buckets.. 
Susie  drifted  doubtfully  towards  the  gate.     Mr. 
Heyrick  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  rubbed 

IOI 


DINKINBAR 

his  beard.     "  Eh,  to  be  sure,"  he  said  confusedly. 

She  ran  back  to  him.  "  To  be  sure  it  was  I  ; 
I  kept  him  from  his  work.  Think  of  the  time  it 
is  since  we've  seen  one  another." 

She  fled  from  the  yard,  and  for  a  little  from 
outside  it  she  watched  the  two  men  at  their 
ccupation. 

Ned  was  soon  on  the  milking-stool  with  his  head 
buried  in  the  capacious  flank  of  Maamie,  whose 
pent-up  milk  was  purring  softly  and  freely  into 
the  bucket  between  his  knees.  Maamie,  seeing 
no  prospect  of  creating  further  disturbances  after 
the  closing  of  the  gate,  had  promptly  horned  a 
more  timid  applicant  for  the  comforts  of  first 
milking  out  of  the  bail,  and  had  established  herself 
in  position  there,  where  she  had  blandly  continued 
her  interrupted  cud-chewing.  Ned's  voice  came 
hollowly  out  from  the  cow's  flank  as  he  responded 
to  Uncle  Joseph's  curt,  comprehensive  comments 
and  inquiries  concerning  stock,  grass,  water,  the 
neighbours,  the  iniquities  of  recent  and  prospec- 
tive land  legislation,  or  his  projects  for  utilising 
the  new-chum  labour  to  the  best  advantage  of 
Dinkinbar.  Maamie  was  milked  and  let  go. 
Ned  rose  to  bail  up  the  next  cow,  tied  her  hind 
leg  back  to  the  fence,  and  instructed  Uncle 
Joseph,  who  stood  guard  over  the  gate  of  the 
calf-pen,  which  calf  to  let  out  of  all  those  watch- 

102 


THE    TYRANNY    OF    TRIFLES 

ing  hungrily  for  their  turn.  During  these 
manoeuvres  both  men  sent  Susie  a  friendly  look, 
and  answered  her  questions  on  the  mysteries  of 
Bush  milking.  But  after  the  calf  had  been  al- 
lowed  at  once  to  start  the  milk  flowing  in  its 
natural  way  and  to  take  the  first  edge  off  its 
hunger,  and  when  Uncle  Joseph  had  slipped  the 
hide  rope  about  its  neck  and  had  pulled  it  away, 
allowing  Ned  to  continue  his  milking,  then 
they  both  fell  to  again,  zestfully,  upon  affairs  of 
station  business,  and  seemed  to  forget  the  girl. 
The  third  chosen  candidate  for  milking  was  the 
heifer  that  had  frightened  Susie.  The  animal 
cast  a  look  of  fearful  suspicion  when  she  saw  the 
white  skirt  outside,  and  swerved  from  the  bail. 
Susie,  with  the  memory  of  her  terror  new  in  her, 
shuddered  back  from  the  rails.  Ned,  with  his 
back  to  Uncle  Joseph,  in  one  quick  message  sig- 
nalled comfortingly  to  her,  and  at  the  same  time, 
with  an  infinitesimal  frown  and  a  shake  of  the 
head,  conveyed  that  the  story  of  her  fright  had 
best  remain  their  secret.  Then  the  two  men 
were  re-absorbed  by  their  men's  affairs,  and  the 
girl  slipped  away  unnoticed. 

The  loneness  that  comes  to  those  who  are 
projected  suddenly  as  idlers  amongst  preoccupied 
and  busy  friends  fell  heavily  upon  Susie  as  she 
left  the  yard.     The  sun  had  climbed  so  far  that, 

103 


DINKINBAR 

as  she  went  slowly  to  the  house,  the  shadow  at 
her  side  had  shrunk  to  credible  proportions  ;  a 
column  of  blue  smoke  bustled  straight  in  air  from 
the  throat  of  the  kitchen  chimney,  and  the  early 
flies  were  plaguing  her  ears  and  face. 

The  smoke,  the  normal  shadow,  and  the 
awakened  flies  stood  with  her  for  the  continuance 
of  the  dull  invasion  of  daily  uninspiring  things, 
headed  by  the  arrival  of  good,  thick  -  headed 
Uncle  Joseph  at  the  yard,  that  had  blundered  in 
upon  her  free,  fresh  intercourse  with  Ned. 

The  common  things  had  arrived  with  deadly 
inopportuneness  on  the  instant  when  she  was  in 
the  very  act  of  wringing  the  acknowledgment 
from  him  that  the  old  full- hearted  comradeship 
of  their  hobbledyhoydom  was  left  untouched  by 
long  severance  and  unfettered  by  the  flight  of 
years.  That  once  established,  she  would  have 
regained  in  the  act  her  old  position  at  his  side  as 
sister  and  playfellow. 

Apart  from  the  dreadful  glint  in  his  eyes  as  of 
one  fallen  from  his  caste  ;  his  rumpled  clothing, 
and  the  mute  and  clumsy  bearing  of  him  when 
he  felt  called  upon  to  apply  some  little  touch  of 
the  arts  and  graces  of  civility  towards  her,  were 
more  than  a  tenfold  justification  for  her  bringing 
all  her  feminine  arts  to  bear  upon  him  for  his 
reclamation. 

104 


THE    TYRANNY    OF    TRIFLES 

As  she  had  drawn  herself  up  in  challenge  of 
his  admiration,  her  mission — and  the  more  than 
urgent  need  of  it  now  that  its  object  was  before 
her — and  all  that  had  led  her  to  embark  upon  it 
had  shone  before  her  clear  in  mind  and  memory, 
back  to  the  morning  when  Jim  had  discoursed 
easily  across  the  breakfast  table  on  Bush  living 
and  its  attendant  evils. 

All  that  was  but  a  moment  ago,  and  yet  now, 
as  she  flicked  restlessly  with  her  handkerchief  at 
the  besieging-  flies,  an  age  of  time  and  an  ocean 
of  hindrances  seemed  to  lie  between  her  and  the 
instant  when  Uncle  Joseph  had  rounded  the 
corner  of  the  milking- yard,  had  hindered  her 
from  bringing  Ned  to  the  acceptance  of  her  point 
of  view  by  the  arguments  of  kissing  and  hugging, 
since  the  mere  look  of  her  had  not  been  all-com- 
pelling, and  since  the  two  men  had  joined  to- 
gether, first  in  rude  welcome  of  one  another,  then 
in  horseplay,  then  in  absorbed  discussion  of  men's 
affairs  so  alien  to  her.  She  beat  helplessly  about 
amongst  the  mighty,  mean  obstructions  that  had 
suddenly  overwhelmed  her. 

The  look  of  the  house,  agape  at  every  opening 
along  its  low,  ramshackle  length,  smote  upon  her 
mood  with  a  chill  unfriendliness.  It  faced  to  the 
eastward,  so  that  the  front  might  be  sheltered 
from  the  glare  of  afternoon,  and  now  the  early 

105 


DINKINBAR 

sunlight  lay  bleakly  along  the  whole  length  of  the 
billowy  clay  floor  of  the  verandah. 

Along  the  timbers  of  the  bald  front  was  written 
— Uncle  Joseph  had  told  her  the  story  last  night 
— the  rise  and  progress  of  the  house  of  Heyrick 
at  Dinkinbar.  To  the  right  of  the  door  the  wall 
was  of  weather-board,  layered  and  trim,  with  the 
curved  tracks  upon  it  where  the  circular  saw 
had  bitten  and  screamed  its  way  through  the 
timber ;  the  two  windows  there  were  glazed,  and 
the  front  was  dandified  with  a  coat  of  white  paint. 
But  to  the  left  of  the  central  doorway  there  still 
stood,  weather-worn  and  grey,  erect,  shoulder  to 
shoulder  like  veterans  on  parade,  the  old  original 
slabs,  their  feet  sunk  in  mother  earth,  rough- 
hewn  from  the  log,  with  the  marks  of  axe  and 
adze  still  clear  upon  them.  They  still  held  above 
them  the  first  rafters  and  the  first  roof-tree  that 
had  sheltered  the  Dinkinbar  pioneers,  Uncle 
Joseph  and  his  wife.  Half  a  dozen  narrow  loop- 
holes the  height  of  a  man's  shoulder — though 
they  had  been  boarded  up  on  the  inside  this  many 
a  year — still  recalled  the  possible  need  of  defence 
by  the  rifle-barrel.  Although  the  whole  long  roof 
was  now  one  drear  level  of  white-painted  corru- 
gated iron,  Uncle  Joseph  had  told  how,  when  the 
last  covering  of  bark  had  been  stripped  to  make 
way  for  the  modern  innovation  of  weather-proof 

1 06 


THE    TYRANNY    OF    TRIFLES 

metal,  he  thought  he  heard  the  naked,  venerable 
rafters  groan,  how  Aunt  Martha  had  cried,  and 
how  he  himself  had  turned  away  blood-guiltily. 

Last  night,  as  she  had  sat  at  his  knee  looking 
out  upon  the  starlit  plain,  drinking  in  the  story, 
and  listening  for  a  horse's  footfall,  it  had  seemed 
to  her  that  Romance  had  for  once  come  down 
from  her  shining  peaks  to  meet  the  Real.  And 
now,  alack  !  what  with  the  hard  sunlight,  the 
strange  elusive  happenings  of  the  morning  and 
the  rush  of  trivial  things,  the  humble  monument  of 
the  fortunes  of  Dinkinbar  seemed  half  sordid,  half 
cheap.  Blucher  and  Bim  had  followed  her  de- 
murely to  the  house,  since,  apparently,  proceed- 
ings at  the  milking-yard  had  become  hopelessly 
tame.  One  of  them  was  thoughtfully  scratching 
his  chest ;  the  other,  engaged  in  a  flea-hunt,  was 
emitting  wallowy,  snoring  sounds  behind  her. 
She  turned  fiercely  upon  them  in  a  sudden  tem- 
pest of  irritation.  Both  looked  up,  hung  their 
ears,  and  swept  their  tails  in  abject  apology.  It 
is  in  our  moments  of  keenest  sensibility  that  the 
eyes  and  the  ways  of  brutes  are  most  tragically 
appealing.  Under  the  two  dogs'  eyes  Susie  grew 
sore  ashamed,  and  ran  inside,  calling  for  Aunt 
Martha. 

A  voice  answered  her  from  the  depths  of  the 
store,  which  was  at  the  rear  and  in  a  far  corner  of 

107 


DINKINBAR 

the  old  section  of  the  house.  Aunt  Martha  was 
there,  short-skirted,  plain-clad,  the  embodiment 
of  implacable  housewifery.  She  was  white  to  the 
elbows,  and  stood  up  as  Susie  came  in,  from 
making  a  rigorous  search  in  an  open  flour-bag. 

The  sense  of  strangeness  fell  upon  the  girl 
more  smartingly  than  before,  the  feeling  of  all 
tenderness  being  crushed  by  the  insistent  multi- 
tude of  raw,  rude,  material  things  ;  for  at  first 
Aunt  Martha,  fresh  from  the  inspection  of  the 
flour-bag,  turned  upon  her  the  eyes  of  a  martinet 
on  duty. 

"  Weevils ! "  she  said  sternly,  then  sought  for 
an  unfloured  spot  on  her  right  forearm,  on  which 
to  rub  the  bridge  of  her  nose.  That  done,  how- 
ever, she  looked  up  with  a  softened  face.  "  Have 
you  slept,  child  ?  Dick  tells  me  Ned  came  home 
in  the  night ;  have  you  seen  him  ?  Ah,  you're 
feeling  strange,  my  lammie — there,  I  knew  it  when 
you  called.     No  wonder — it  makes  us  rough  and 

heedless.      Kiss  me,  dearie,  but  mind  the  flour 

Oh,  but  it  does." 

Aunt  Martha  resumed  her  stern  examination 
of  the  flour-bag,  and  the  girl  watched  her  as  she 
passed  in  her  review  to  the  tea,  soap,  and  raisins, 
and  the  shelves  crowded  with  tins  and  bottles. 
Everything  was  parasite-infested  and  in  mannish 
disarray  ;  and  the  housewife's  muttered  soliloquy 

1 08 


THE    TYRANNY    OF    TRIFLES 

boded  ill  for  the  venerable  cook  on  the  occasion 
of  her  next  interview  with  him. 

Mrs.  Heyrick  had  started  back  in  angry  horror 
from  an  open  sugar-sack  alive  with  soldier  ants, 
when  the  voices  of  Ned  and  Uncle  Joseph  reached 
her  from  the  outside.  Uncle  Joseph  was  rating 
the  younger  man  in  his  breezy  manner. 

"  It's  my  boy,  my  boy  ;  listen ! "  said  Aunt 
Martha  with  her  motherly  thrill. 

"No  spell  in  town — missed  the  Races,  not  to 
mention  the  arrival  of  your  friends  and  relations," 
Uncle  Joseph  was  storming  heartily.      "  Left  all 

your  letters  lying.     What  in  thunder ?     Well, 

it  licks  me.  Man !  " — there  fell  the  sound  of  an 
open-handed  smack — "  when  I  was  your  age " 
■ — then  a  whisper  followed,  and  a  horse-laugh — ■ 
"and  the  girl  coming" — another  smack — "and 
the  chummies  ;  and  you  never  knew.  What  d'you 
mean,  lad,  anyhow  ?  " 

"I  couldn't" — Ned's  voice  came  hesitatingly — 
"  face  the  stink  and  the  glare  of  a  big  town  some- 
how  " 

"  What ! " 

"  No,  I  mean — I  thought  I — I  might  as  well 
have  a  look  at  those  two  or  three  lots  of  bulls  we 
talked  of,  you  know." 

"  Ah  !  but  Lord,  man " 

"  And  the  boy  fairly  cried  when  he  thought  he 

109 


DINKINBAR 

wouldn't  see  the  Races,  and  I  let  him  go.  And 
look  here,  Uncle  Joe,"  with  sudden  defiance,  "  I 
hankered  after  the  station  anyway,  and  the — and 
your  infernal  bullocks  topped  the  market ;  and 
there's  not  a  mickey  l  or  a  broken  fence  or  gate 
on  the  run.  So  there  you  are ;  and  you  can  like 
it  or  do  the  other  thing." 

"  The  run's  topping,  but  it  licks  me,  all  the 
same,"  said  Uncle  Joseph  doggedly. 

Aunt  Martha  had  listened,  looking  with  a 
curious  intensity  at  Susie  all  the  time,  and  with 
her  floury  hands  hanging  loosely  before  her. 
"  Bless  the  boy  !  "  she  said  at  last,  and  ran  out 
when  the  voices  sounded  loudly  in  the  back 
passage. 

Susie  hung  back  for  a  moment ;  she  looked 
round  the  untidy  store  smiling  distractedly,  and 
when  Uncle  Joseph  called  jovially  for  her  she 
pressed  her  open  hands  to  her  temples  before  she 
went  to  him. 

1  "Mickey,"  a  bull  calf  which,  through  careless  or  inefficient 
stockmanship,  has  been  missed,  and  has  grown  big  while  still 
unbranded. 


ifO 


CHAPTER   VII 
Sunday  on  Dinkinbar 

THE  Sunday  afternoon  was  well  advanced 
before  the  girl  from  England  found  relief 
from  the  tyranny  of  trifles — as  it  seemed  to  her — 
that  had  held  dominion  over  her  and  the  Dinkin- 
bar homestead  from  the  moment  when  Uncle 
Joseph  appeared  at  the  milking-yard  until  he  and 
Aunt  Martha  went  for  their  afternoon  nap. 

Then  she  hurried  to  her  room,  got  out  writing 
materials,  and  firmly  set  down  on  a  sheet  of  note- 
paper  the  cattle-station's  name,  the  date,  and 
underneath,  "  My  darling  Jim."  She  pressed 
the  end  of  the  penholder  to  her  under-lip,  and 
frowned  determinedly  through  the  open  window- 
frame  across  the  staring  sand,  where  the 
bleached  stockyard  rails  shimmered  mirage-like 
in  the  sunshine.  It  was  to  her  the  first  perform- 
ance of  the  daily  task  to  which  she  had  vowed 
her  sternest  resolution,  that  of  keeping  fresh  and 
unflawed  in  this  wild  place  the  home  associations, 
for  her  own  and  others'  good.  All  through  the 
morning    and    the    forenoon,  whenever   she    had 

in 


DINKINBAR 

been  able  to  snatch  a  moment's  reflection,  she  had 
longed  for  solitude  and  the  liberty  to  detach  her- 
self from  the  things  about  her,  that  she  might  bv 
serious,  consciously-directed  effort  mark  the  first 
stage  towards  the  accomplishment  of  that  errand 
of  mercy  she  had  travelled  half  the  world  to 
execute.  She  planted  an  elbow  firmly  on  each 
side  of  her  note-paper,  closed  her  teeth  lightly  on 
the  penholder,  and  fell  hungrily  upon  her  recollec- 
tions of  the  day's  doings  and  her  own  part  in 
them,  sternly  resolved  to  extract  from  her  review 
some  concise,  clear-drawn  conclusion  which  should 
help  her  to  watchfulness  of  her  attitude  and  actions 
in  the  future  development  of  her  scheme  for  the 
reclamation  of  Dinkinbar  to  gentler  ways  of  living. 
From  that  first  meeting  by  the  garden  wall  she 
seemed  removed  by  an  infinity  of  time  ;  and  yet 
it  alone  stood  clear  and  unconfused  before  her. 
Passing  onward  from  that  moment,  purpose  and 
memory  parted  company,  and  a  mass  of  bewilder- 
ing and  irrelevant  detail  swarmed  in  upon  her 
recollection,  making  a  deliberate  survey  impossi- 
ble. There  were  the  solemn  cattle-dogs,  the  rush 
of  the  frightened  heifer,  and  the  new  Ned,  with 
his  inscrutable  changing  humour,  now  fierce,  hard, 
and  bitter,  as  when  she  had  seen  him  while  cling- 
ing to  his  neck,  now  full  of  a  yearning  gentleness 
and  wonder,  as  when  she  had  intercepted  one  of 

112 


SUNDAY    ON    DINKINBAR 

his  timid  side-looks  at  her,  and  again  of  baffling 
simplicity  as  he  harangued  the  milkers  or  apolo- 
gised to  the  domineering  rooster.  And  then,  that 
marvellous  interview  by  the  gate,  that  seemed  to 
her  now  to  have  been  carried  on  in  dumb  show, 
or  in  some  lost  language,  for  not  a  word  of  it 
could  she  recall ;  and  what  in  the  name  of  wonder 
had  bidden  her,  as  if  from  instinctive  jealousy  of 
some  unknown  rival,  to  flash  upon  him  the  display 
of  her  charms  ?  She  thought  of  it  without  the  hint 
of  a  blush  ;  but  if  Uncle  Joseph  had  not  arrived, 
and  if  her  impulse  to  give  Ned  that  sisterly  hug 
had  not  been  checked,  would  she  have  remem- 
bered as  calmly  as  now  ?  But  she  was  hurried 
on  to  the  bluff  greeting  of  the  men  to  one  another 
after  such  long  absence,  and  thenceforward  the 
happenings  of  the  morning  galloped  by  in  ever- 
increasinor  confusion. 

She  roused  herself  at  last  from  a  somewhat 
shamefaced  recollection  of  the  shock  inflicted 
upon  her  daintiness  by  the  plainness  and  plen- 
teousness  of  the  Dinkinbar  breakfast,  the  weight 
and  thickness  of  the  white  tea-cups,  and  the 
enormous  tin  teapot — so  like  a  watering-can — to 
find  herself  gazing  with  wide-open  eyes  towards 
the  stockyard,  while,  with  her  head  slowly 
turning  from  side  to  side,  she  was  industriously 
engaged  in  trying  to  make  the  butt  of  her  pen- 

113  1 


DINKINBAR 

holder  rap  out,  as  it  ran  across  her  teeth,  the  lilt 
and  measure  of  the  air  of  "  Father  O'Flynn." 

She  frowned  severely  out  upon  the  sunlit 
expanse,  and  made  to  put  the  right  punctuation 
to  the  superscription  of  her  letter.  The  ink  was 
dry  on  the  pen,  and  a  large  purple-red  ant  was 
standing  on  the  rim  of  her  inkpot,  looking  in  and 
twiddling  its  feelers  as  if  admiring  its  reflection. 
She  rose  up  angrily  and  stepped  back,  with  her 
eyes  fastened  on  the  intruder,  and,  holding  the 
penholder  at  arm's  length,  she  waited  till  the  ant 
cautiously  lowered  itself  for  closer  observation  of 
the  contents  of  the  inkbottle,  and  tipped  it  in. 
But  when  she  looked  in  guiltily  and  saw  the  insect 
looking  up  with  a  tiny,  pitifully-stupid  face,  and 
pawing  helplessly  with  inky  legs  at  the  glass,  she 
ran  horror-stricken  from  the  room. 

Ned,  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulders  and  with  Bim  at 
his  heels,  was  crossing  from  the  bachelors'  quarters. 

"  Ned,  Ned  !  "  she  called  wildly  ;  "  there's  a 
beast  in  my  room." 

He  ran  up  and  stood  in  the  doorway  with  his 
gun  at  the  ready.   "What  is  it — where  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  An  ant — in  the  inkpot !  "  she  fluttered  almost 
inaudibly  behind  him. 

"  In    the "     She    did    not  see  whether  he 

turned  to  behold  her  humiliation,  for  she  was 
gazing  at  the  floor  ;  but  in  her  soul  she  thanked 

114 


SUNDAY    ON    DINKINBAR 

him  for  his  silence  as  he  set  down  the  gun,  and 
she  looked  up  in  time  to  see  that  he  took  off  the 
crumpled  hat  and  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left  as  he  entered  the  room  and  went  over 
to  the  table.  He  fished  out  the  ant  on  the  pen- 
holder, shook  it  off  as  he  left  the  room,  and  set 
his  foot  upon  it. 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  ears  to  hide  the  small 
sounds  of  crunching,  then  looked  at  the  little 
mutilated  body  in  dismay,  shuddered  at  the  sight 
of  the  clumsy,  shapeless  boot  that  had  mangled  it, 
and  recoiled  almost  imperceptibly. 

Ned  replaced  the  shabby  hat,  pushing  the  wavy 
brim  over  his  eyes,  took  up  his  antiquated  muzzle- 
loading  gun,  and  started  for  the  open  doorway, 
where  Bim  was  sitting  with  tilted  head  in  a  fer- 
ment of  curiosity,  making  small,  tense,  whistling 
sounds  in  his  nose. 

Ned's  back  was  no  sooner  turned  than  the  girl 
longed  to  say  something  to  recall  him  ;  but  he 
trudged  stolidly  out  into  the  sun,  and  snapped  his 
fingers  once  as  he  passed  the  dog,  whether  to  call 
him  to  heel  or  in  contempt  of  her  childishness  the 
girl  could  not  tell.  She  stood  tongue-tied  as  he 
retreated.  Bim  marked  time  uneasily  with  his 
paws,  as  if  the  earth  burned,  and  saluted  humbly 
with  his  ears  up  into  Susie's  face  and  towards  his 
master's  slowly  retreating  figure  in  turn. 

115 


DINKINBAR 

Suddenly  the  dog  took  a  watching  air,  and  a 
faint  sound  of  voices  and  the  trampling  of  horses 
reached  the  carl's  ears. 

"  Ned,"  she  called  imperiously,  "  come  here  I 
There's  somebody  coming,"  she  added  faintly,  as 
he  turned  half  round  and  lowered  his  gun-butt  on 
the  sand.  Bim  touched  her  finger-tips  demurely 
with  his  tongue,  then  raced  round  to  the  front  of 
the  house,  barking  furiously. 

"  I  expect  it's  these  new-chums  of  yours,"  Ned 
remarked,  dourly  the  girl  thought,  as  she  ran 
through  the  house. 

A  loose  procession  of  five  mounted  men  was 
coming  across  the  plain,  the  leading  four  exhibit- 
ing every  variety  of  inelegance  in  their  horseman- 
ship ;  for,  as  the  girl  came  out  on  the  front 
verandah,  Jim  Baxter,  the  stockman,  who  brought 
up  the  rear,  let  loose  his  stockwhip,  and  sounded 
it  in  a  succession  of  reports  as  if  a  heavy  revolver 
had  been  fired,  causing  the  four  new-chums'  horses 
to  set  off  at  a  free  hand-gallop  for  the  house. 

Aplin  in  the  lead,  who  had  taken  off  his  enor- 
mous new  felt  hat  to  wave  it  to  the  girl,  dropped 
it  and  laid  hold  of  his  horse's  mane  with  both 
hands  ;  Hulbert,  with  his  elbows  squared  out  as 
he  held  the  reins  close  beneath  his  armpits,  shot 
up  woodenly  out  of  the  saddle  at  every  stride; 
Finlay  let  go  his  reins  and  clung  wildly  with  both 

116 


SUNDAY    ON    DINKINBAR 

hands  to  the  pommel  ;  Creswell  alone,  with  little 
dignity  but  much  determination,  got  a  short  grip 
of  his  reins,  with  the  slack  of  the  leather  bunched 
between  his  hands,  and  set  his  knees  firm.  When 
he  arrived  at  the  verandah  he  had  his  teeth  shut, 
but  his  horse  alone  of  the  four  was  in  hand. 
The  stockman,  having  started  his  cavalcade,  reined 
up  his  horse,  leaned  his  forehead  on  its  neck,  and 
shouted  with  laughter. 

The  fresh  faces  of  the  four  new- chums,  their 
open  delight  at  seeing  her  again,  and  their  boyish 
pride  in  the  wild  horsemanship  as  they  all  climbed 
stiffly  down,  appealed  gratefully  to  the  girl  as 
something  wholesome  and  simple  after  the  tragic 
confusion  and  lonesomeness  which  the  day's  im- 
mersion in  the  new  conditions  had  brought  upon 
her.  She  forgot  her  soreness  and  humiliation  $git 
the  pitiful  breakdown  of  her  first  daily  judicial 
summing-up  of  the  new  life,  and  how  she  was 
to  discharge  her  mission  to  mitigate  its  harshness, 
in  offering  her  delighted  sympathy  as  the  new- 
chums  poured  out  to  her  the  tale  of  their  journey 
up  to  Dinkinbar,  and  what  a  rattling  time  they  had 
had,  and  meant  to  have,  in  this  bigger  world. 
With  the  exception  of  Creswell,  who  still  main- 
tained something  of  his  customary  solidity  and 
shrewdness  of  manner,  they  were  all  superlatively 
enthusiastic ;  and  in  their  dazzling  moleskins  and 

117 


DINKINBAR 

voluminous,  open-necked  shirts,  fresh  out  of  the 
Bingo  stores,  all  but  Creswell  lounged,  and  posed, 
and  appeared  to  regard  themselves  as  daring  and 
finished  frontiersmen. 

Aplin  crossed  his  legs,  leaned  against  his  horse's 
shoulder,  threw  an  arm  across  its  neck,  and  toyed 
with  the  mane. 

"What  a  magnificent  fellow  Snelling  is!"  he 
said.  "  That's  what  I  call  an  Englishman  with 
all  the  nonsense  taken  out  of  him.  He  says 
England's  played  out,  except  as  a  kind  of  museum, 

and "  but  the  horse   edged  away,  and  Aplin 

had  some  difficulty  in  recovering  his  balance. 

The  owner  of  Dinkinbar  was  jolted  from  the 
blissful  depths  of  his  Sunday  nap  by  the  cyclonic 
arrival  of  the  new-chums,  their  noisy,  unpro- 
fessional manner  of  dismounting,  and  their  high- 
pitched  volubility  under  the  verandah. 

He  tossed  aside  the  mosquito  curtains,  silently 
thrust  a  rumpled  and  exasperated  head  through 
the  open  window-frame,  and  became  an  unnoticed 
spectator  of  the  scene  outside. 

The  four  young  Englishmen  were  all  bidding 
vociferously  for  the  girl's  notice.  Jim  Baxter,  the 
stockman,  in  the  middle  distance  was  leading  his 
horse  to  the  saddle-room,  having  , exchanged  a 
seemly,  laconic  greeting  with  Ned,  who,  with  his 
dog  and  gun,  had  turned  his  back  upon  the  new 

1 18 


SUNDAY    ON    DINKINBAR 

arrivals,  and  was  disappearing  amongst  the  lank, 
sad-coloured  undergrowth  that  fringed  the  creek- 
side. 

As  Mr.  Hey  rick  removed  his  irritated  scrutiny 
from  the  two  seasoned  bushmen  in  the  background 
to  the  noisy  group  at  his  elbow,  Aplin's  eulogium 
of  the  fascinating  Snelling  fell  upon  his  ears. 

"  That's  his  way  of  putting  it.  Snelling  didn't 
happen  to  remark,  did  he,"  the  squatter  said  to 
the  group  outside,  his  voice  husky  with  sleep, 
"  that  if  a  man  happens  to  be  born  a  forty,1  he 
finds  decent  company  in  England  a  bit  too  hot  to 
hold  him  ? " 

The  four  new-chums  stared  round  at  the  win- 
dow, dumbfounded  at  this  reception.  Hitherto 
the  squatter's  geniality,  and  his  tolerance  of  the 
ways  of  young  men,  had  promised  well  for  their 
term  of  colonial  experience  under  him  ;  this  was 
their  first  sight  of  him  in  the  role  of  the  captain 
expounding,  in  the  manner  of  a  skipper,  the  sacred- 
ness  of  his  own  quarter-deck. 

All  the  young  men  fell  into  a  silence,  and  looked 
part  sheepish,  part  resentful,  except  Creswell,  who, 
with  unstirred  equanimity,  murmured  under  his 
breath  to  Susie,  "  How  odd  !    I'd  no  idea  Snelling 

1  "  Forty  "  :  a  professional  sharper.  The  origin  of  the  term 
is  doubtful,  though  it  has  been  sought  to  trace  some  connection 
with  "  Ali  Baba  and  the  Forty  Thieves." 

119 


DINKINBAR 

was  born  so  far  ahead  of  his  era.     I  should  have 
said  Forty  by  effluxion  of  time." 

Uncle  Joseph,  having  cleared  his  throat  noisily, 
went  on,  "  You  young  fellows  had  better  get  your 

saddles  off,  and "     He  disappeared  suddenly, 

as  if  pulled  backwards,  and  from  the  room  there 
issued  subdued  sounds  of  hasty  discussion. 

An  awkward  silence  still  reigned  along  the 
verandah,  when  Aunt  Martha  came  briskly  out 
and  made  the  new-chums  kindly  welcome,  sooth- 
ing the  ruffled  ones  with  a  show  of  real  solicitude 
for  their  comfort  in  the  new  place. 

"  And  where's  Ned  ?  Have  they  seen  him  ?  " 
she  asked,  turning  to  the  girl,  whose  eyes  went 
wandering  confusedly  round  the  empty  landscape. 

"  Ay,  where's  Ned  ?"  Uncle  Joseph  repeated,  as 
he  came  out,  buttoning  a  creased  and  baggy  coat. 

As  if  in  answer,  the  report  of  a  gun,  followed 
by  crashing  echoes  and  the  frantic  barking  of  a 
dog,  resounded  from  the  rocky  hollows  far  up  the 
creek-bed. 

"  H'm,  duck-hunting  he  is,  as  usual  of  a  Sun- 
day," Mr.  Heyrick  said,  and  added  absently, 
looking  at  Susie,  "  getting  a  lonely  devil,  is  Ned  ; 
time  he  had  company  round.  Mind,  you  chaps," 
he  said,  addressing  the  new-chums  generally, 
"  I'll  see  to  it  that  you  work  here  ;  but  there's 
three  things  chiefly  you've  got  to  beware  of  on 

1 20 


SUNDAY    ON    D1NKINBAR 

your  own  account.  One's  dirt,  and  that's  bad  ; 
and  another's  drink,  and  that's  worse  ;  and  the 
third's  loneliness — if  you  give  in  to  that,  and  be- 
gin to  turn  hatter  " — his  wife  plucked  him  by 
the  sleeve — "  like  a  horse  or  a  bull  gone  sulky- 
mad,  which  is  absurd,  of  course,"  he  concluded 
hastily  ;  and  then,  as  if  to  show  that  all  his  re- 
marks, including  that  from  the  window,  had  been 
mere  conversational  pleasantry  and  apropos  of 
nothing  in  particular,  he  continued,  retiring  with 
manifest  relief  on  practical  matters,  "  Lead  your 
horses  round,  boys,  and  I'll  show  you  your  camp 
and  where  you  stow  the  saddles." 

The  women  stayed  behind.  "  What's  a  hatter, 
Aunt  Martha  ?  "  Susie  asked. 

"  A  hatter,  child  ?  "  The  elder  woman  followed 
the  younger  one's  look,  which  was  roaming  back 
and  forth  along  the  ragged  line  of  the  river-timber. 
Then  their  eyes  met,  and  the  girl  repeated  the 
question. 

"  A  hatter  ?  "  Aunt  Martha  said,  scanning  the 
girl's  face  in  a  puzzled  way.  "  Oh,  when  a  horse 
or  a  beast  gets  queer  and  lonely,  you  know,  and 
pokes  away  by  himself,  and  won't  feed  with  his 
mates,  we  say  he's  turned  hatter,  that's  all ;  "  and 
she  made  as  if  to  draw  the  girl  inside  with  her. 

But  Susie  hung  back.  "  Do  men  ever  turn  hat- 
ter ?     Do  they  ?  "  she  asked. 

121 


DINKINBAR 

"  Ay,  they  do,  God  help  them!"  the  elder  woman 
said  in  a  hurried  half-whisper,  and  as  if  an  ugly 
secret  had  been  forced  from  her.  Then  she 
hastened  away,  for  Uncle  Joseph  was  calling  her. 

The  girl,  left  alone  upon  the  long,  clay-floored 
verandah,  let  her  eyes  travel  bemusedly  abroad. 
The  fervour  of  the  day's  heat  was  spent  by  now, 
and  the  distance  was  no  longer  tortured  and 
shuddering  in  the  sun-haze.  The  mile-wide  plain, 
and  the  low,  timbered  ridges  that  closed  it  round, 
shone  dusky-orange,  and  the  mighty  framework 
of  the  stockyards  to  the  right  glinted  like  bar-gold 
in  the  steady  glare  ;  the  shadow  of  the  house  was 
broadening  to  eastward,  and  out  of  the  spiry, 
feathery  she- oaks  that  bordered  the  creek-bed 
came  the  first  pipings  of  the  birds  that  were  flock- 
ing in  to  drink. 

The  sound  of  another  gunshot  from  far  up  the 
watercourse  scattered  silence  amongst  the  birds, 
and  a  flock  overhead,  that  had  been  skimming 
towards  the  water,  wheeled  in  its  course,  and 
hurried  from  the  direction  of  the  sound. 

Susie  put  an  arm  about  one  of  the  hacked  and 
weather-bleached  old  verandah  posts,  and  listened 
long  as  she  watched  the  evening  shades  creeping 
out  and  drowning  the  sun-gold  on  the  plain, 
stripping  the  stockyard  of  its  gilded  coat  of  flame- 
colour,  and  quenching  from  the  earth  upward  the 

122 


SUNDAY    ON    DINKINBAR 

tawny  lustre  of  the  she- oaks,  till  the  topmost 
slender  cone  burned  for  a  moment,  a  solitary- 
beacon  above  the  shadows,  a  last  flicker  in  the 
closing  eye  of  day. 

While  the  spacious  twilight  deepened  out  of 
doors,  the  half-hour  before  supper  was  passed  in 
the  lamplit  house  in  anything  but  conversational 
ease.  Uncle  Joseph  was  rendered  socially  im- 
practicable by  hunger,  the  unseemly  absence  of 
his  head  stockman,  Ned,  and  the  youthful  buoyancy 
of  certainly  three  of  the  new-chums. 

Aunt  Martha  was  ruffled  and  distraught  after  a 
series  of  warm  encounters,  in  which  she  had  come 
off  second  best,  with  the  cynical  old  cook  over  the 
disorganized  condition  into  which  the  household 
had  drifted  under  his  masculine  ineptitude  ;  she 
hinted  her  concern,  besides,  as  to  whether  her 
manner  of  spending  the  day  had  not  laid  her  open 
to  a  charge  of  Sabbath-breaking. 

The  rest,  not  far  enough  on  in  life  to  have 
reached  and  tried  the  refuge  of  silence,  and  with 
no  choice  open  to  them  but  speed  when  conver- 
sational substance  was  wanting  and  nerves  might 
be  ajar,  were  holding  high  talk  round  the  lamp. 

Susie,  with  a  mind  uncoupled  from  the  present, 
and  running  uneasily  and  ineffectually  back  and 
forth  among  the  strange  occurrences  of  the  day, 
from  the  morning's  milking  to  the  distant,  solitary 

123 


DINKINBAR 

gunfire  on  the  creek,  had  given  over  tongue  and 
features  to  the  entertainment  of  the  young  men, 
in  order  that  the  awkward  pre-supper  interval 
might  be  comfortably  tided  over.  Being  left  to 
themselves,  these  attractive  members  were  making 
the  most  of  their  opportunities,  and  showing  a 
hundred  tricks  of  lip  and  eye  and  the  manage- 
ment of  dimples,  such  as — notably  if  the  lack  of 
deep  design  that  underlies  the  pretty  wantonness 
be  of  the  Irish  persuasion — are  eternally  liable  to 
misconstruction. 

She  was  at  the  end  of  the  long  pine-board 
table,  with  the  uncle  and  aunt  behind  her,  and  the 
new-chums  sat  in  pairs  at  either  side  of  her. 
Except  Hulbert,  who  was  next  to  her  on  the 
right,  sitting  with  his  hands  beneath  the  table,  and 
looking  somewhat  diffident  and  alarmed,  they 
were  all  disposed  to  sprawl  towards  her  on  the 
table  and  to  be  somewhat  noisy.  Under  the 
stress  of  her  sub-conscious  striving  after  conver- 
sational zest,  the  girl's  tongue  rattled  brightly, 
and  the  colour  glowed  in  her  cheeks,  and,  with  an 
uneasy  feeling  that  the  conversational  ball  she 
had  started  was  somehow  getting  beyond  her 
management,  she  nevertheless  retorted  upon  a 
lumbering  and  somewhat  heated  vindication  by 
Aplin  of  man's  innate  modesty  with  a  ringing 
peal  of  laughter. 

124 


SUNDAY    ON    DINKINBAR 

"  I  expect,"  Uncle  Joseph  cut  in  drily,  "  supper 
will  be  here  in  a  minute,  and  perhaps  you  young 
people  had  better  make  room  for  Dick." 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  Susie  looked  with 
a  deepened  colour  round  the  young  men  ;  she 
appeared  on  a  sudden  correct  and  severe  ;  in 
truth,  she  was  confused,  and  wondering  as  well 
whether  a  small  sound  that  had  come  to  her  ears 
from  without  during  the  pause  had  been  heard  by 
any  of  the  others.  It  was  the  whining  of  a  dog. 
None  of  the  rest  seemed  to  have  noticed  it,  and, 
making  a  feint  of  preparing  for  supper,  she 
hurried  out  to  the  back  door. 

Ned,  with  a  limp-hanging  brace  of  ducks  in  his 
hand,  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  open,  and 
Bim,  sitting  erect  and  stiff,  was  at  his  master's  heels. 
Susie  ran  towards  him,  but  he  remained  stock 
still,  and  the  same  vague  impulse  that  had  driven 
her  to  him  in  the  milking-yard  died  out  again 
before  his  unresponsiveness,  so  that  she  pulled  up 
within  two  paces  of  him.  The  dog  rose  up, 
sniffed  humbly  at  her  skirts,  and  sat  down  between 
the  pair,  turning  his  head  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  she  said  faintly  and 
breathlessly.  "  Why  did  you  run  away  like  that, 
Ned  ?  " 

He  looked  down  and  swung  the  dead  birds 
slowly   in   his   hand.       "  You    seem    pretty    com- 

125 


D1NKINBAR 

fortable  amongst  them,"  he  said.  "  I've  lost  the 
run  of  my  company  manners."  She  stamped  and 
faced  half  round  from  him,  and  suddenly  he  looked 
up  and  addressed  her  frankly  and  peremptorily. 
"  There,  I'm  a  beast,  Sue  ;  but  if  you  come  tum- 
bling into  the  garden  that  way  out  of  nowhere, 
why,  of  course  you  bowl  me  out."  He  came  for- 
ward a  step.  "  I  couldn't  face  the  chummies  just 
at  once.  It's  all  right  now.  But  listen.  You're 
just  to  have  a  jolly  time  out  here.  If  I'd  had 
notice  that  vou  were  coming,  I  wouldn't  have  let 
you  in  for  that  stupid  business  this  morning. 
Don't  worry  after  old  times  and  all  that ;  they're 
dead  and  buried,  and " 

"  They're  not,"  she  said,  facing  him  defiantly, 
with  the  nameless  impulse  of  the  morning  again 
in  full  possession  of  her. 

"  But  they  are,"  he  said  quietly,  "  and  this  is 
good-bye  to  'em.  Just  take  things  as  you  find 
them." 

"  I  will  not,"  she  said,  all  the  more  vehemently 
because  she  did  not  know  what  it  was  against 
which  she  had  entered  into  war.  "  I  won't  be 
cast  off  by  old  chums  this  way  without  a  better 
reason." 

He  lost  confidence  somewhat,  and  looked  about 
as  if  hoping  for  interruption.  "  Old  chums  ?  non- 
sense!    I   don't  know,"   he  said  almost  guiltily, 

126 


SUNDAY    ON    DINKINBAR 

'•'  what  you — what  we're — making  all  this  trouble 
about." 

"Neither  do  I,"  triumphantly.  "You  see? 
There  must  be  something  you're  hiding  from  me. 
Or  else,  in   the  milking-yard,  just  before    Uncle 

Joseph  came,  how  was  it ?  "    She  was  brought 

up  by  her  headlong  rush  upon  the  awkward  re- 
collection. 

"  There  was  nothing,"  he  said,  relapsing  into 
doggedness,  "  except  my  clumsiness — nothing  in 
the  world." 

She  laughed  a  little  in  a  puzzled  way,  wonder- 
ing that  his  impenetrable  moods  merely  inflamed 
her  eagerness  at  hunting  unknown  objects  in  the 
dark.  She  set  her  hands  upon  her  waist.  "Then 
I'm  going  to  find  it,"  she  said  conclusively. 

"  For  pity's  sake  don't  look,"  he  said  appeal- 
ingly. 

"What  matter?  Aren't  women  born  to  look 
for  nothing,  and  don't  they  generally  find  it  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  still  more  uneasily,  "  I'm 
grown  a  plain,  rough  stock-rider,  as  plain  as  Jim 
there." 

"  Ned,  Ned,  you're   not  so  plain-patterned   as 
lm. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Susie,"  he  said  hoarsely  and 
suddenly,  "go  away  home  again.  It's  no  place 
for  you." 

127 


DINKINBAR 

Thus  they  had  once  more,  as  in  the  morning, 
reached  the  maziest  confines  of  misunderstanding-, 
when  Bim,  who  had  meanwhile  stretched  himself 
out  between  them,  leapt  to  his  feet  and  growled 
gently. 

"  Listen  ! "  said  Ned,  his  mind  on  the  instant 
seeming  to  be  swept  clear  of  the  recollection  of 
all  that  had  passed.  A  faint,  inspiring  sound  of 
many  hoofs  came  to  their  ears. 

"  It's  Moltke,"  Ned  shouted,  "  been  horse- 
hunting  since  Saturday.  H-rr-oop  !  Come  along, 
Susie!"  Then  he  pulled  himself  up,  and  said,  with 
a  mighty  new  elation  on  him,  "  Hear  that,  girl  ?  " 
The  rataplan  of  the  hoofs  was  growing  clear, 
and  the  stark  note  of  a  whip  seemed  to  echo  up 
amongst  the  very  stars.  "  It's  that,  besides  the 
queer  things  that  we  never  mention,  that  makes 
new  men  out  here.  So  if  you  stay,  don't  blame 
me  if  you  find  I'm — we're — crossed  with  the 
savage  here  ; "  and  he  laid  aside  gun  and  birds 
and  plunged  into  the  house. 

The  girl  followed  him  to  find  Uncle  Joseph 
already  astir.  Ned  scattered  a  nod  amongst  the 
new-chums,  cutting  short  Aunt  Martha's  for- 
malities of  introduction,  and  the  whole  company 
trooped  to  the  front. 

The  cook,  who  had  come  behind  Susie,  with 
the  supper  things  from  the  kitchen,  plumped  them 

123 


SUNDAY    ON    DINKINBAR 

on  the  table  and  joined  the  group  on  the  verandah. 

A  long,  dim  line  of  horses  was  streaming  at  a 
gallop  across  the  level  floor  of  the  plain.  In  the 
huge  vault  of  stillness  that  lay  overhead  and 
round  about  them,  their  speed  was  curiously 
magnified,  and  they  seemed  to  travel  to  the 
heart-shaking,  muffled  thunder  of  their  hoofs 
with  unearthly  speed.  Close  behind  them,  with 
his  horse  buried  chest-deep  in  the  dust  that  rose 
and  followed  like  a  comet  tail,  rode  a  bare-headed, 
dusky  horseman.  Now  and  then  his  right  arm 
rose  and  fell ;  at  every  fall  the  detonation  of  the 
whip-lash  sounded  abroad,  and  was  repeated  in 
tiny  volleys  from  the  timber  like  the  distant 
clapping  of  the  hands  of  watching  multitudes. 

On  the  verandah  no  one  spoke  except  Hulbert, 
who  said  gently  to  himself  as  he  sighed  luxuri- 
ously, "  Oh,  wee,  wee,  little  England,  look  at  this!" 

When  the  galloping  had  ceased  and  the  sound 
of  the  heavy  rails  being  sent  home  in  the  slip- 
panel  came  over  to  announce  that  the  horses  were 
safe,  the  men  went  out  in  a  body  to  the  yards. 

The  women  turned  indoors,  and  the  elder  one 
began  with  a  somewhat  drawn  and  absent  face  to 
help  the  cook  to  lay  the  supper-table.  Susie  sat 
by,  wrestling  with  her  re-awakened  horror  of  the 
unbleached  table-cloth  and  the  solidity  of  the 
eating  accessories. 

129  k 


DINKINBAR 

The  cook  paused  to  watch  Aunt  Martha 
suspiciously  slanting  a  plate  so  that  the  lamp- 
light fell  upon  it,  and  said  in  his  tired,  malicious 
way,  "  There  will  be  sport,  madam,  in  the  yards 
to-morrow  if  Moltke's  brought  in  the  roan  colt." 

The  feint  succeeded  ;  Aunt  Martha  set  down 
the  plate.  "What  do  you  mean?"  she  said, 
looking  frightened. 

"  Oh,  nothing  ;  only  Mr.  Ned  mentioned,"  he 
continued,  seeming  to  taste  and  approve  the  sting 
of  every  word  as  it  came,  "  that  he'd  sent  Moltke 
to  find  the  mob  with  the  roan  colt  in  it,  or  perish. 
He's  been  out  six  months,  the  colt  has,  and,  says 
Mr.  Ned  to  me,  he  says,  '  The  next  man  that  rides 
that  colt,  Dick,  will  be  apt  to  discover  several 
new  constellations,  even  if  he  doesn't  find  King- 
dom Come.'  Dick  continued  his  work  with 
great  nicety. 

Aunt  Martha  stood  watching  him  in  silence, 
and  with  the  look  of  fear  deepened  in  her  face. 
When  Susie  touched  her,  she  started.  Dick 
shuffled  out  after  a  final  glance  round  of  super- 
cilious triumph. 

"  It's  nothing,  nothing  ;  there's  no  danger,  none 
at  all,"  Aunt  Martha  said  hastily,  "  in  this  horse- 
riding.  I  had  an  old  uncle,  a  soldier  that  had 
fought  in  twenty  fights,  I  suppose,  and  the  sight 
of  a    cut    finger   scared    him   to   his  dying   day. 

130 


SUNDAY    ON    DINKINBAR 

We've  all  some  silly  dread  that  we  can't  outlive. 
The  things  I've  been  through  with  your  uncle  !  and 
yet  I'm  always  a  baby  when  this  buckjumping's 
going  on.  Dick  knows  it ;  and  he  mayn't  buck 
at  all — the  colt.  But  you'll  always  notice  your 
old  aunt's  a  fool  about  wicked  horses,  child." 
She  patted  the  girl's  cheek,  and  smiled ;  but  the 
strong  face  was  the  face  of  a  woman  watching  the 
sea  that  has  swallowed  up  her  happiness. 

A  confusion  of  tongues  sounded  from  without, 
dominated  by  the  joyous  chattering  of  Moltke, 
who  was  making  up  for  a  limited  vocabulary  by 
plentiful,  descriptive  grunting  and  a  wild  and 
liberal  employment  of  statistics  and  imagery  : 
"  Tee-day  pind  um  blenty  drack,  see  um  foot  be- 
long that  one  ro'on  cult " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,"  Hulbert's  eager 
voice  cut  in,  "  that  he  knows  a  horse  simply  by 
its  hoof-prints  ?  " 

"  We  call  'em  tracks,"  Uncle  Joseph's  voice 
answered ;  "  and  this  nigger  can  swear  to  the 
track  of  any  horse  on  the  run,  and  most  of  the 
neighbours',  too,  as  safe  as  if  he  saw  the  animal 
before  him.  You  puzzle  him,  and  I'll  give 
you  the  one  he  goes  wrong  over.  Go  on, 
Moltke." 

The  boy  crowed.  "  Kee-hee,  ho'se-drack, 
blenty    walk    about,    walk    about  ;     me    pollow 

13* 


DINKINBAR 

pollow  —  ride  —  long  — fife  hund'd  miles  —  h-r-r- 
ehee !  I  think  it  closh-up  two  mile." 

"  So  much  as  that!  '  Ned  put  in  wonderingly. 
"  Three-quarters  of  a  mile,  maybe,  eh,  Moltke  ?  " 

"  Yo-ai  (yes) ;  I  think  it  dree  quarts,  Mis' 
Nedie.     'Ungry  me,  now." 

"  Run  away  to  Dick,"  said  Uncle  Joseph. 
"  Wait,  though  ;  look  in  here.  Two  fella  missee 
you  got  urn  now,  Moltke." 

The  lad  followed  his  master  to  the  doorway, 
but  not  beyond,  and  stood  there,  grinning  hugely, 
and  nervously  fingering  a  battered  hat. 

"Why,  Moltke,"  Aunt  Martha  cried,  "you're 
splendid  ! " 

"  Pflendid  me,  yo-ai.  You  jump  up  like  it 
Ole  Country  now,  missee;  'long  big  fella  water?" 

"  Ay.  I  bring  um  you  shirt,  too,  hank'chef, 
my  word,  all  same  that  one  sky-boomerang  (rain- 
bow) you  see ;  and  look  here,"  Mrs.  Heyrick 
said,  pointing  to  Susie. 

Moltke  grew  suddenly  solemn,  and  eyed  the 
girl  humbly  with  the  look  of  an  adoring  dog. 

"My  woo-ahd  !  boodyerre  fella  White  Mary. 
That  one  sit  down  here  now — belong  Mis'  Nedie, 
I  'spect,  uh  ?  " 

"  There,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  smothering  a 
laugh,  "  clear  for  the  kitchen ; "  and  Moltke, 
grinning  again,  withdrew. 

132 


CHAPTER    VIII 
A   Buckjumping 

WHEN,  in  the  clear,  still  dawning  of  her 
second  day  on  Dinkinbar,  Susie  was 
wakened  by  sounds  of  stirring  in  the  house,  and 
came  out  dressed  as  the  first  of  the  sunlight 
fell  across  the  plain,  it  was  to  find  Uncle  Joseph 
busy  and  abroad,  and  cheerfully  but  firmly  bent 
upon  it  that  the  station  business  was  to  be 
immediately  set  a-going ;  and  that  the  new- 
chums  were  to  be  shackled  without  delay  with 
the  full  weight  of  their  new  responsibilities. 

Even  as  the  girl  emerged  from  her  room,  she 
was  an  embarrassed  witness  of  the  close  of  an 
interview  between  Aunt  Martha  and  Finlay, 
who,  being  discovered  by  Mr.  Heyrick  in  the  act 
of  instituting  polite  inquiries  as  to  his  washing, 
was  roundly  informed  that  he  was  to  be  his  own 
laundryman  from  that  day  forth,  and  that  any- 
thing in  excess  of  the  station  allowance  of  soap 
would  be  charged  to  him.  Then  the  horrified 
Finlay  was  bidden  to  go  to  the  stockyards  and 

^33 


DlNKliNBAR 

see   how    horses    were    drafted ;    and    he    went 
vaguely  forth. 

Creswell  was  despatched  with  a  bridle  on  his 
arm,  along  with  Jim  Baxter,  for  a  first  lesson 
in  bare-backed  riding,  and  instruction  in  the 
method  of  running  up  the  working  horses  from 
the  home-paddock.  Aunt  Martha  being  entirely 
engrossed  in  the  business  of  breakfast-getting, 
Susie,  remembering  the  first  hour  of  yesterday 
already  with  something  of  a  pang  as  she  sought 
the  broad-brimmed  hat,  made  for  the  freedom  of 
the  open  air. 

To  the  turmoil  of  the  milkers  in  the  yards 
there  was  added  now  in  another  part  a  furious 
trampling  and  surging  amongst  the  horses  yarded 
overnight,  whence  now  and  then  Ned's  steady 
voice  would  rise  from  amid  these  new  alarms. 
Bim  and  Blucher,  very  obsequious,  but  sad  and 
preoccupied,  discovered  the  girl  and  came  to  sit 
behind  her,  and  gazed  yearningly  at  the  scene 
of  action,  like  battle-hungry  reserves  held  back 
from  the  firing  line. 

When  Susie  moved  away  to  the  stockyard,  the 
dogs  refused,  with  many  apologies  and  regrets, 
to  follow  her. 

As  she  drew  closer,  a  climax  of  the  mysterious 
trouble  amongst  the  horses  appeared  to  be 
reached.      Between  the  lines  of  the  rails  she  could 

134 


A    BUCKJUMPING 

see  Ned,  hat  in  hand — a  single  collected  figure 
against  a  thronging  rush  of  horses — winnowing 
the  pack  by  wary  dodging  till  one  shining  silver 
roan  shot  out  of  the  rush  by  himself  into  a  small 
square  corner  yard,  where  the  gate  was  closed 
upon  him. 

Finlay  was  watching  this  stirring  business 
in  a  somewhat  dejected  attitude  from  the  massive 
top  of  a  distant  corner-post.  As  Susie  looked, 
the  roan  caught  sight  of  her,  flung  up  his  head, 
and  roared  defiantly  in  his  nostrils.  She  fled 
appalled,  and  coasted  round  the  fence  till  she 
reached  the  milking-yard,  where  she  discovered 
that  Aplin  and  Hulbert  were  in  the  charge  of 
Dick,  who,  by  means  of  a  scathing  commentary 
on  their  helplessness,  was  giving  tuition  in  the 
mysteries  of  milking. 

During  breakfast,  three  of  the  new-chums 
seemed  bewildered  and  depressed.  Creswell 
alone  maintained  his  customary  air  of  strong 
complacency,  and  vowed  he  had  spent  a  most 
instructive  morning,  though  there  was  a  faint 
ring  of  contemptuous  self-assertiveness  in  the 
avowal  for  which  Uncle  Joseph  had  no  retort 
but  a  grunt. 

Aunt  Martha  ate  little  and  gazed  much,  with 
the  look  of  robbed  motherhood  strong  in  her  face, 
at  Ned,  who  fed  stolidly,  though   sparingly,  and 

135 


DINKINBAR 

spoke  little.  Once  Susie  looked  up  to  find  that 
his  eyes,  with  the  blue  ring  of  the  pupils  showing 
clear  between  the  parted  lids,  were  set  upon 
her  face. 

Something  of  the  uncanny  look  she  had 
surprised  in  them  yesterday  was  there  now, 
and  in  the  peaked  eyebrows ;  but  something 
strangely  mournful  as  well.  She  noticed  that 
he  endeavoured,  with  pitying  side-glances  at  Aunt 
Martha,  to  stifle  all  Uncle  Joseph's  attempts  to 
discuss  the  roan  colt,  and  that,  when  the  meal 
was  over,  and  the  outspoken  old  squatter's 
exuberance  seemed  about  to  get  the  better  of 
him,  Ned  made  a  pretext  and  hurried  him 
out. 

Susie,  on  her  father's  side,  came  of  a  people 
that  turns  out  warriors  and  horsemen,  not  to 
mention  militant  priests,  in  numbers  far  exceed- 
ing its  home  requirements  ;  and  in  spite  of  her 
pity  for  Aunt  Martha,  whom  she  left  limp  and 
tearful  in  the  house,  race  instinct  drove  her  to 
the  yard  when  the  time  drew  near  that  the  roan 
colt  was  to  be  ridden. 

When  she  got  there,  Uncle  Joseph  was  issuing 
stern  injunctions  to  the  new-chums,  who,  with 
the  cook,  the  stockman,  and  the  blackboy,  were 
staring  fixedly  through  the  fence,  as  to  the  deadly 
danger  of  any  sudden   movement  while  the  colt 

136 


A    BUCKJUMPING 

was  beinp-  caught  and  saddled.  He  beamed  in 
sudden  delight  when  the  girl  put  her  hand 
through  his  arm,  and  came  to  stand  beside 
him. 

"  I  said  she  was  the  stuff,"  he  muttered  secretly 
and  absently,  for  at  that  instant  Ned,  with  a 
bridle  in  his  hand,  entered  the  narrow  yard  from 
within  and  quietly  fastened  the  gate  behind 
him. 

The  colt  trumpeted  defiance,  wheeled  away 
to  the  furthest  corner,  then  faced  about  and 
stepped  out  springily  into  the  centre  of  the  yard 
till  he  stood  three  feet  away  from  the  man. 
There  he  stopped,  his  ears  straining  forward, 
his  eyes,  with  a  blue-grey  sheen  in  them,  fixed  on 
the  man's  chest,  while  now  and  again  he  hollowed 
up  his  nostrils  and  blared  a  challenge. 

His  purple-silver  coat  shone  silky  in  the  sun  ; 
he  stood  there,  instinct  from  ear-tip  to  hoof  in 
every  shapely  line  of  him  with  all  the  devilry  of 
all  his  unbitted  ancestry  ;  untouched  by  kindness  ; 
untamed  by  his  breaking-in ;  fit  as  steel  ;  as 
quick  as  a  tiger,  and,  to  the  last  limit  of  his  lesser 
powers  of  wickedness,  as  unscrupulous. 

In  Ned's  face  there  was  a  hard,  grim,  watchful 
coldness  as  he  first,  at  arm's  length,  got  his  fingers 
on  the  roan's  velvety  nose  and  up  along  the 
narrow  forehead,  talking  peacefully  all  the  time 

137 


DINKINBAR 

of  casual  things.  He  was  already  slipping  the 
bridle  gingerly  upward  to  the  ears,  and  gently 
tickling  the  horse's  tongue  so  that  the  bit,  emblem 
of  man's  dominion,  might  be  slid  between  the 
teeth,  when  Hulbert,  who  was  in  the  colt's  rear 
and  in  an  ecstasy  of  admiration,  moved  hastily 
aside  to  get  a  better  view.  As  quick  as  the  leap 
of  flame  from  a  gun-muzzle  the  roan  lifted  a  fore- 
foot as  high  as  his  ears  and  brought  it  down  stiff, 
straight,  and  heavy  as  a  sledge  for  the  man's 
head.  Ned  moved  backward  by  the  length  of 
his  foot  ;  it  was  in  time,  and  far  enough,  but 
his  shirt,  where  it  bagged  above  his  belt,  was 
laid  open  in  a  jagged  rent  by  the  falling  hoof. 

He  smiled  gently,  and  Uncle  Joseph's  forcibly 
uttered  cautions  saved  further  interruption. 

The  bitting  and  bridling,  the  saddling  and 
girthing  up,  the  making  fast  and  safe  of  crupper 
and  breastplate  and  surcingle  on  the  roan  colt, 
was  a  business  that  called  for  a  resourceful- 
ness and  a  collected  courage  unneeded  and  un- 
known in  the  tamer  business  when  two  boxers 
spar  for  an  opening  ;  for,  awaiting  every  slightest 
clumsiness  on  the  horseman's  part,  there  lurked 
a  lightning  blow  of  ten-man  power,  on  which, 
if  he  survived  it,  he  must  not  retaliate.  When 
the  super-delicate  work  was  done,  the  colt 
was  let  run  loose  about  the  yard  with  the  bridle 

138 


A    BUCKJUMPING 

fastened  to  the  near  stirrup,  in  order  that  he  might, 
if  so  disposed,  waste  the  freshest  of  his  anger 
on  the  empty  saddle.  But  his  wickedness  was 
of  the  cooler,  deadlier  sort ;  he  merely  buckled 
himself  in  a  few  times,  feeling  his  perfect  strength, 
and  making  the  leather  strain  and  cringe,  then 
stood  in  a  far  corner  and  turned  his  stone-coloured 
eyes  upon  his  enemy. 

"  He  means  it,  boy,"  Uncle  Joseph  said 
heartily. 

"  He  does,"  Ned  answered  quietly,  and,  setting 
his  hat  firm,  he  led  out  the  colt,  undid  the 
reins,  and  slipped  the  bridle  over  the  animal's 
ears. 

"  I'm  going  to  run  away,"  Susie  whispered 
suddenly  in  her  uncle's  ear.  Uncle  Joseph 
merely  took  a  strong  grip  of  her  hand  as  it  lay 
on  his  arm.  She  tugged  half-heartedly  at  her 
imprisoned  limb  and  looked  about  her,  white- 
faced  and  cold  at  heart ;  every  eye  about  the 
fence  was  set  and  strained.  In  the  next  moment 
the  spirit  of  her  older  fathers  that  was  in  her 
gave  thanks  for  that  restraining  hand  upon  her. 
Ned  was  in  the  saddle,  with  his  feet  home  in 
the  stirrup-irons,  and  the  roan  colt  had  flung 
loose  the  full  torrent  of  his  wrath. 

When  a  horse  bucks  in  a  manner  worthy  of 
the  name,  it  is  a  glorious  and  a  fearsome  thing 

139 


DINKINBAR 

to  see.  It  means  that  one  of  man's  oldest, 
fieriest,  tamest  servants  among  the  brutes — 
having  been  foaled  in  the  open  forest,  and  run 
bridleless  and  unhandled  till  he  has  shed  his 
milk-teeth,  having  tasted  the  sweetness  of  the 
old  days  of  republican  forest- freedom  before  ever 
the  ribs  of  any  one  of  his  breed  had  been  galled 
by  the  knees  of  human  kind — has  revolted,  and 
means  to  fight  to  his  last  breath  against  all 
ignoble  restraint  of  hands  or  leather.  And  when 
a  Bush- bred  colt  makes  war,  he  has  all  the 
weapons  of  offence  at  his  command  that  through 
all  the  ages  were  ever  wielded  by  any  of  his 
kin.  For  in  him  there  is  the  wild-beast  blood 
of  the  zebra,  and  the  spring,  the  mettle,  and 
endurance  of  the  English  thoroughbred. 

A  crimson  light  flared  up  in  the  colt's  eyes  ; 
he  gathered  in  his  haunches,  and  rose.  As  he 
rose,  he  clipped  himself  with  horrible  swiftness 
into  a  curve  till  his  head  beneath  him  was  buried 
in  his  own  silver  tail,  shook  himself  like  a  wet 
dog  as  he  spun  about,  and  lighted  on  two  fore- 
legs planted  as  stiff  and  straight  as  crowbars 
where  the  hind  feet  had  trod  when  the  battle 
started.  As  the  shock  of  the  alighting  fore-part 
was  delivered,  the  lithe  hindquarters  were  already 
gathered  in,  and  the  rearing,  the  writhing,  the 
swerving  in  air,  and  the  plunge  were  repeated, 

140 


A    BUCKJUMPING 

this  time  the  other  way  round,  and  re-repeated 
with  every  variation  and  all  the  ruthless  tactics 
that  strength  and  fury  could  suggest.  The  colt 
squealed  and  groaned  in  a  strained,  uncouth,  and 
terrifying  way ;  and  in  less  than  a  minute  dull, 
ragged  splotches  of  sweat  began  to  mar  the 
brightness  of  his  coat  on  neck  and  flank. 

The  rider,  his  face  set  like  a  flint,  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  on  a  point  a  little  forward  of  the 
saddle-pommel,  and  held  a  rein  clenched  in  each 
hand  at  quarter-length  till  the  muscles  of  the 
forearm  stood  up  arched  and  clear  ;  though,  as 
the  horse's  head  was  whirled  beneath  him,  the 
rider's  hands  gave  lightly  lest  he  should  be 
plucked  headforemost  from  his  seat.  From  the 
saddle  downward  he  was  clipped  to  the  leather 
and  the  horse's  ribs  like  a  vice  ;  but  upward  from 
the  waist  he  spun  and  turned  as  if  blown  by 
the  wind. 

At  each  upward  rear  he  gave  forward  ;  as  the 
horse  bent  double  beneath  him  he  was  left  bolt 
upright  upon  the  living  arch,  and  his  shoulders 
merely  shook  and  faced  about  to  the  wrenching 
and  swerving  that  looked  as  if  it  might  uproot 
a  living  tree  ;  the  riving  shock  of  landing  he 
met  sitting  back  a  little. 

After  a  long  five  minutes  the  bucking  ceased 
as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun,  and  the  colt  stood 

141 


DINKINBAR 

up,  beaten  in  his  first  round,  but  unconquered, 
and  champing  defiantly  on  the  bit.  His  fore- 
head and  nose  were  powdered  with  the  dust 
of  the  stockyard,  where  his  doubled-in  head  had 
brushed  the  ground  beneath  him.  His  coat  was 
all  dull  and  sodden,  and  the  sweat  pattered 
beneath  him,  while  his  nostrils  spread  and  shrank 
with  his  heavy  breathing. 

The  man  upon  him  was  pale  and  firm,  and 
he  breathed  long  and  deep.  Catching  Moltke's 
eye,  he  nodded  towards  the  slip-panel  that  gave 
from  the  yard  into  the  open,  and  the  boy  ran 
chuckling  to  take  down  the  rails. 

"Going  for  a  spin  in  the  open,  lad?"  Uncle 
Joseph  asked  approvingly. 

"  Yes  ;  stand  clear." 

The  colt  stepped  gingerly  out,  and  his  ribs  rose 
and  fell  in  a  mighty  sigh  as  he  looked  abroad. 
Then  he  shot  away  for  a  hundred  yards ;  at 
the  end  of  that  he  bunched  himself  together  once 

o 

more,  and  for  a  few  wild  moments  bucked  and 
screamed  again  as  he  had  done  in  the  yard, 
ploughing  up  the  hard  earth  in  a  circle  no  wider 
than  his  own  length.  When  the  spasm  was  over 
and  he  stood  up  with  his  nose  pointed  for  the 
open  plain,  Ned  for  the  first  time  sent  his  heels 
home  resoundingly  on  the  colt's  ribs,  and  the 
roan  went  off  at  a  headlong  gallop,  then  plunged 

142 


A    BUCKJUMPING 

straight  ahead  in  a  series  of  gigantic  flying  bucks 
that  carried  him  out  of  sight  beyond  a  line  of 
trees. 

"  Boys,"  said  Uncle  Joseph  exultingly,  "  that's 
horsemanship." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Susie  was  in  her  room, 
aimlessly  occupied  and  absently  idle  by  turns, 
when  she  saw  Ned  outside  leading  the  roan  colt 
round  to  the  saddle-room.  The  horse  followed 
submissively,  looking  dazed  and  weary. 

Hulbert  was  walking  beside  Ned,  looking 
adoringly  at  him  and  chattering  blithely  of  his 
wonder  at  the  buckjumping. 

Susie's  letter  of  yesterday,  dust- covered  and 
still  wanting  its  commencement,  was  lying  on  the 
table,  and  an  ant — this  time  a  small  black  one — 
was  exploring  vigorously  over  and  about  the 
paper.  The  girl  waited  her  opportunity,  and, 
snatching  up  the  sheet,  she  looked  it  over  long 
and  carefully,  then  tore  it  into  fragments. 


M3 


CHAPTER  IX 
Afternoon    Tea 

THE  eight  hundred  and  odd  square  miles  of 
country  that  formed  the  Dinkinbar  cattle- 
station  lay  about  midway  along  the  base  of  that 
great  northern  triangle  of  Australia  whose  apex 
is  Cape  York.  Although  that  topmost  promon- 
tory of  the  island  is  a  port  of  call  for  ocean 
steamers,  a  station  of  imperial  defence,  a  focus 
of  trade,  and  a  convenient  rallying-ground  for 
the  swindlers  of  two  hemispheres,  and  although 
along  its  jungle-fringed  eastern  coast  local  govern- 
ment and  the  mining  speculator  have  brought  the 
mixed  blessings  of  civility,  yet  in  its  heart  and 
along-  its  western  side  there  still  lingers  much 
of  the  mystery  of  unawakened  earth. 

All  along  its  southern  boundary  the  peninsula 
rises  out  of  the  rich,  rolling,  treeless,  pastoral 
country  in  a  line  of  timbered,  basaltic  ramparts, 
forbidding  at  first  sight  with  their  rocked-ribbed 
gorges  and  boulder-strewn  earth.  It  needed  a 
tough  breed  of  men  to  make  war  on  this  craggy 
stretch  and  to  force  it  into  bearing.     Sheep  were 

144 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

an  impossibility,  for  the  grasses  grew  barbed  and 
needle-pointed  seed  that  clung  to  the  fleeces  and 
gave  them  all  the  appearance  and  something  less 
than  the  value  of  so  many  door-mats  ;  and  the 
blacks  were  predatory  in  the  early  days,  and  pro- 
vided by  nature  with  ample  cover.  But,  once  estab- 
lished there,  horses  grew  flat-boned,  sound-hoofed, 
and  wiry,  and  cattle  throve  and  multiplied  like 
magic  on  the  sweet,  strong  grass  that  sprouted  on 
the  black-soiled  plains,  on  the  chocolate  table- 
lands above  the  tumbled  slopes,  and  thronged 
even  amongst  the  chaos  of  volcanic  stones.  And, 
best  of  all,  the  scowling  gullies,  the  reedy, 
meadowy  uplands,  and  the  stony  stretches  were 
threaded  all  about  with  strong,  full,  never-failing 
runnels  of  pure  cold  water  that  welled  up  plenti- 
fully from  hidden  springs  in  the  black-bowelled 
earth,  springs,  it  was  noted — often  with  super- 
stitious awe — that  ran  only  the  more  plenteously 
in  time  of  drought. 

That  wealth  of  water  was  the  chief  of  the 
many  saving  graces  of  the  basalt  country.  Year 
by  year  Mr.  Heyrick  would  read  in  his  news- 
paper of  the  ravages  wrought  by  the  dry  times 
on  the  lordly  sheep-lands  not  fifty  miles  to  the 
south  of  him,  of  bank-  and  mortgage-ridden 
squatters,  of  wasted  flocks,  and  would  chuckle 
as  he  listened  to  the  music  of  the  water  below 

145  L 


DINKINBAR 

his  house  and  thought  of  his  cool,  high,  stony- 
land  and  his  abundant  sheltered  pasturage.  He 
was  of  that  rugged  breed  that  had  tamed  his  plot 
of  the  peninsula  to  do  his  will  and  give  him 
wealth  sufficient  to  his  ends  ;  a  true  Briton 
abroad,  his  yeoman  stubbornness  widened,  en- 
nobled may  be,  but  not  weakened  by  the  broader 
new-world  needs ;  a  man — as  one  might  say 
whose  estimate  of  the  squatter's  character  had 
not  been  belittled  by  a  too  intimate  contempla- 
tion— who  had  breathed  a  serener  air  than  that 
of  crowded  England. 

Something  of  ampler,  if  ruder  build,  there  is  in 
that  fast-dying  race,  the  old-time  squatter,  who 
has  sloughed  the  little  ways  of  his  more  recent 
ancestry,  has  freed  himself  by  the  work  of  his 
hands  from  snobbery  and  snuffling,  and  seems — 
if  one  sets  him  as  a  type  of  manhood  clear  of  the 
turmoil  of  his  daily  needs — as  if  he  might  almost 
be  some  Viking  of  the  elder  days,  who  had  laid 
aside  his  sword  and  shield  and  turned  herd- 
master. 

But  even  a  Viking  farmer,  like  any  other  who 
has  his  living  to  make,  must  be  the  creature  of 
his  conditions,  if  he  is  to  master  them.  And 
Uncle  Joseph,  on  the  thirteenth  Sunday  after 
the  arrival  of  his  new-chums,  as  he  mechanically 
waved  his  folded  spectacles  to  keep  off  the  flies 

T46 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

after  he  had  absorbed  the  nourlshine  items  of 
his  weekly  newspaper,  was  as  little  of  the 
Beresark  of  old,  and  as  plainly  and  placidly 
devoted  to  business,   as  any  grocer. 

He  and  his  wife  were  sitting  side  by  side  in 
their  old  deep  canvas  chairs  alone  upon  the  Din- 
kinbar  verandah. 

"We'll  tighten  the  reins  on  'em  to-morrow, 
Martha,  eh  ?  " 

She  was  going  steadily  down  the  births, 
marriages,  and  deaths,  item  by  item,  with  a 
forefinger,  and  closed  the  paper  as  she  came  to 
the  last  one. 

"  I  suppose  you  must,"  she  said,  knitting  her 
fingers  in  her  lap  and  leaning  back. 

"  Ay,  no  more  of  this  holiday  business  round 
the  head  station.  Give  it  them  light  at  first, 
that's  it.  Makes  'em  show  their  paces  and  lets 
one  know  what  they're  good  for.  It's  time  to 
make  use  of  'em  now  and  begin  to  scrub  the 
nonsense   off  them." 

"  Poor  boys,"  Aunt  Martha  said  faintly. 

"Poor  men,"  gruffly;  "two  of  them  mighty 
poor.  But  it's  a  fair  average.  There's  two 
rank  wasters  in  the  lot,  and  one  horseman,  Martha, 
and  one  with  a  head." 

"You  mean  Creswell." 

"  Ay,  I  do.      By  dash  " — Uncle  Joseph  tapped 

147 


DINKINBAR 

his  forehead  with  the  spectacles — "  it's  the  hand 
of  Providence,  old  woman.  It'll  pay.  Cres- 
well's  square  and  sensible,  and  as  close  as  wax. 
We'll  send  him  south,  to  watch  Snelling  and 
keep  his  infernal  cattle  back.  Hulbert's  a  rider, 
but" —  Uncle  Joseph  looked  round  and  listened, 
then  lowered  his  voice — "  he's  a  fool  with  his 
poetry  and  his  vapourings.  We'll  send  him 
north,  up  to  the  wild  parts,  to  keep  the  boundary 
where  there's  no  Snelling  to  watch — see  ?  " 

"  If  he  doesn't  turn — turn  queer — Joe,  the  way 
I  do  think  poor  Ned  might  have  done  if  we 
hadn't  come  back." 

"And  brought  the  girl,  eh,  Martha,  oho?" 
He  turned  round  to  stroke  his  wife's  white  hair. 
"  Nay,  Hulbert's  all  right.  He'll  come  in  here 
often  enough  ;  Ned'll  keep  him  straight.  We'll 
make  a  man  of  him.  He'd  only  have  been  a 
Thing  at  home.     As  for  the  other  two " 

"I'm  frightened  for  them,  Joe.  I  wish  they 
were  back  with  their  mothers." 

"Their  mammies!"  —  with  deep  disgust.  "I 
declare,  Martha,  since  that  girl  came,  but  it's  as 
if  you — you're  gone  that  soft.  Now  if  you  hadn't 
me  to " 

"  You're  just  four  times  as  big  a  fool  about  her 
as  I  am,  Joe  " — the  tone  of  the  retort  turned  it 
into  a  caress,  and  she  pinched  the  big  brown  paw 
that  was  laid  upon  her  knee. 

148 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

"  Well,  well.  We're  getting  old,  Martha. — But 
this  isn't  business."  Uncle  Joseph  returned  with 
added  sternness  to  the  question  of  the  exploi- 
tation of  his  new-chums.  "  They  can  run  home 
to  their  mammies,  the  other  two,  the  way  that 
ladylike  nephew  of  mine  did — Lord  !  if  I  could 
ha'  kept  him — after  they've  served  their  turn  and 
worked  out  their  tucker." 

"  If  they're  no  good,  Joe  dear,  send  them 
home,  and  deduct  their  keep  from  that  wretched 
hundred-pound  premium  you  got  with  each  of 
them." 

Uncle  Joseph  sat  up  in  his  chair  and  adopted 
the  manner,  judicially  rough,  of  the  man  who 
means  to  maintain  once  for  all  the  sacredness  of 
might  against  the  wiles  of  any  softer  pleading. 

"  I  tell  you,  Martha,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
spectacles  threateningly  at  the  landscape,  "  those 
unlicked  cubs  are  dear  at  a  thousand,  Snelling's 
price  per  head.  They've  smashed  more  saddlery 
already,  and  spoiled  more  horses,  and — and  made 
goats  of  themselves  all  round  in  a  way  that  a 
hundred  apiece  won't  cover." 

Aunt  Martha  folded  up  the  paper  carefully  on 
her  knee  ;  Uncle  Joseph  sat  back  again  and  con- 
tinued doggedly  to  develop  his  plans. 

"  These  two,  Aplin  and  Finlay,  will  start  out 
to  morrow  morning  with  a  dray  and  camp  fixings, 

149 


DINKINBAR 

and  go  to  the  south-west  corner  on  the  Meadow 
Flat  boundary  and  start  their  dirty  work,  pulling 
the  wire  out  of  the  old  heifer-paddock.  That's 
what  they'll  do,  and  it's  all  they're  fit  for." 

"It's  only  five  miles  from  the  pub" — Aunt 
Martha  said  hastily—"  the  '  Three  Bushes.'  " 

He  waited  for  a  further  protest,  but  none  came, 
and  he  went  on,  expanding  genially  as  his  plans 
took  shape — "  It's  a  Providence,  Martha.  If  I 
don't  wipe  out  that  twenty-year-old  grudge  I've 
got  against  my  aristocratic  friend  Snelling,  may 
the  pleuro  kill  every  hoof  of  cattle  on  Dinkinbar." 

"Still  on  Meadow  Flat,  Joe?" 

"Ay,  still.  'Cursed  be  he  that  removeth 
his  neighbour's  landmark.'  Snelling's  a  rogue, 
Martha.  He  got  Meadow  Flat,  the  pick  of  my 
run — the  run  I  found,  and  mighty  near  gave  my 
life  to  keep — by  a  trick.  Oh,  but  he  did.  You 
can't  believe  it,  woman,  you  found  him  so  sweet 
when  you  came,  years  after.  He  did,  though. 
He  squared  the  surveyor  or  something.  You 
made  the  peace  between  us — it  was  when  our 
baby  died,  God  love  us.  But  I  told  you  it  was 
hollow,  though  it's  best,  I  know.  And  now  my 
time's  coming,  Martha." 

"  Let  it  be,    old  man  ;  we   have  all  we  need 
without  it." 

Uncle  Joseph  rose  and  made  a  survey  of  the 

150 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

empty  house  for  listeners.  Then  he  sat  down 
again  and  clenched  a  fist  on  his  knee. 

"  There's  no  letting  be,  Martha,  to  a  wrong  like 
that.  If  I  owned  all  Cape  York  Peninsula,  ay, 
or  all  Queensland  but  that  one  corner,  I'd  fight 
him  for  it ;  and  he  knows  it.  I'd  fought  every- 
thing here  from  wild  blacks  and  the  wild  elements 
to  tame,  bank-managers,  and  weathered  the  lot 
of  'em  ;  and  then  Mr.  Soft- sawder  Snellino-  comes 
and  sneaks  the  apple  of  my  very  eye,  Meadow 
Flat,  the  cream  of  the  run.  There's  no  forgive- 
ness  for  that,  girl.  If  you  hadn't  come — well,  I 
don't  precisely  know  now  how  far  I  was  from 
getting  to  work  on  him  with  the  argument  of  the 
pistol -barrel.      It  was  wilder  days  then." 

"  It's  better  as  it  is,  Joe." 

"Oh,  it's  better,  ay.  If  I'd  shot  him,  his 
heirs'd  have  collared  Meadow  Flat.  Now,  please 
God,  I'll  have  it  back  before  I  die.  He's  mort- 
gaged to  the  hilt ;  he's  overstocked,  and  yet  he's 
hardly  a  saleable  beast  on  his  run  ;  the  drought 
down  south  is  driving  his  cattle  up  my  way  for  a 
living ;  let  me  post  Creswell  down  there  with 
a  boy  to  hunt  'em  back  for  three  months,  and 
one  fine  morning  I'll  ride  into  the  Bank  of 
Ethiopia  in  Bingo,  and  make  that  tubby  little 
Morrison  a  cash  offer  (thank  the  Lord  for  the 
bullocks    sold    and  the    new-chums,  we've    cash 

151 


DINKINBAR 

now),  and  Snelling'll  walk  out  of  his  house  and 
off  the  property  he  thieved  with  no  more  than 
the  clothes  on  his  back  to  call  his  own.  That's 
better  than  shooting,  hey,  Martha  ?  " 

Aunt  Martha  was  carefully  smoothing  out  the 
crumpled  newspaper.  She  had  the  gift  of  silence, 
and  not  many  could  have  told  from  her  passive- 
seemine  exterior  that  she  had  tendered  a  con- 
versational  olive-branch  which  had  been  accepted 
in  the  light  of  a  thistle.  Fortunately,  her  hus- 
band was  amongst  the  understanding  ones.  He 
relented  from  his  stern,  reproving  stare  upon  the 
naked  sky  and  plain,  and  applied  the  folded  spec- 
tacles to  gently  rubbing  his  wife's  uneasy  hand. 

"  Women,"  he  said,  "  are  all  sn — all  lovers  of 
elegance  and  refinement  and  high  breeding,  bless 
'em.  If  they  weren't,  what  sort  of  a  ramshackle 
world  would  we  get,  anyhow,  if  a  woman  looked 
down  instead  of  up  when  she  came  to  choose  the 
father  of  her  children  ?  Now,  there,  old  girl,  I'll 
give  you  charge  of  the  case.  Snelling's  the 
nephew  of  a  lord." 

"  Son,"  Aunt  Martha  said  decidedly.  "  Not 
that   I   care." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  but  I  thought  it  was  nephew.  He's 
well  mannered,  and  built  like  a  thorough-bred, 
every  line  of  him.  You  can't  believe  he's  a  high- 
class  thief.     No  wonder.     Now  look  at  his  wife." 

152 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

"  Yes,  look  at  her,"  Aunt  Martha  said,  quietly 
but  firmly  withdrawing  her  hand  from  beneath 
the  caressing-  spectacles. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  touch  her.  But  she's  a 
very  fine,  a  very  clever,  handsome,  cultured  " — he 
wrenched  the  word  out  heavily — "  a  cultured 
woman,  Martha." 

His  wife  smiled  a  restful,  superior  smile. 

"  I'm  too  old  for  that,  Joe.  She's  as  hard  as 
the  basalt  down  in  the  creek.  It's  your  name  for 
her  over  the  way  she  treated  those  new-chums, 
poor  boys." 

"  Ay,  ay.  But  she's  most  superior,  all  the 
same.  But  that's  not  it.  Look  at  her  niece. 
Now  there's  a  girl,  Martha  !  " 

"  I  suppose  she  is  a  girl,  yes,"  Aunt  Martha 
said  aridly,  "  though  it's  hard  to  believe  it  some- 
times, what  with  her  shirts  and  ties  and  cigarettes 
and  things." 

"  Ah,  but  such  good  style,  Martha.  Trim  and 
smart  ;  a  girl  bound  by  nature  to  make  for  a  high 
position,  and  to  fetch  her  husband  along  with  her." 

Aunt  Martha  sat  up,  and  in  her  turn  seemed 
to  take  the  entire  landscape  severely  to  task  as 
she  said,  "  Oh,  yes,  she'll  do  all  that." 

Uncle  Joseph  lay  back  and  folded  his  hands, 
but  carefully  preserved  his  deliberative  solemnity 
as  he  watched  his  wife. 

153 


DINKINBAR 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he  agreed.  "  I  give  in  to 
your  likings  for  style,  Martha.  Let's  be  awm- 
beetious,  as  old  Mac  says.  I'll  let  Snelling  keep 
his  run.  We'll  send  Susie  home — between  you 
and  me  she's  only  a  flighty  thing — and  fetch  that 
Stormonth  girl  up  to  stay  here,  and  run  Ned  on 
for  a  family  alliance  with  her.  Get  back  Meadow 
Flat  that  way,  and  an  aristocratic  connection  as 
well.     That's  to  your  liking,  eh  ?  " 

Aunt  Martha  had  drawn  herself  up  defiantly, 
and  was  perched  on  the  edge  of  her  chair. 

"  Well,"  she  began  explosively,  and  paused,  as 
if  choosing  her  point  of  attack  upon  this  mon- 
strous proposal. 

"  Well  ? "  Uncle  Joseph  said  serenely  behind 
her.  "  It  appears  to  me  to  be  a  most  suitable 
notion.  I'm  hard  on  the  Snelling  crowd,  I  grant 
you.  You  stand  up  for  'em — for  him,  at  least — 
and  quite  right ;  they're  clean-bred,  only  they're 
running  out  for  want  of  worldly  goods.  We  find 
the  goods,  they  fetch  the  breeding,  and  the  two 
runs,  Dinkinbar  and  Meadow  Flat  together,  will 
make  the  neatest  station  in  the  Peninsula,  and 
everybody  happy." 

Aunt  Martha  was  gazing  with  tight- shut  lips 
out  towards  the  farthest  line  of  trees.  "Send 
my  Susie  away  ! "  she  muttered  fragmentarily. 
"  Fetch    that — that    smart   hussy,   and    start    my 

154 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

boy  Ned — and  that  Snelling  woman  with  her 
cackle,  and — and  cockernannies  and  gimcrackery" 
— her  voice  was  rising  as  if  in  horror  at  its  own 
recital.  "  Joe  !  "  she  turned  at  last  wildly  to  her 
husband. 

Uncle  Joseph,  with  the  spectacles  protruding 
from  his  folded  fingers,  was  hugging  his  waist- 
belt  as  he  gazed  at  the  roof,  and  was  chuckling 
noiselessly.  Aunt  Martha  broke  into  doubtful 
laughter,  and  raised  a  harmless-looking  fist  above 
him.  He  doubled  up  and  cowered  beneath  it, 
holding  the  spectacles  like  a  single-stick,  as  if  to 
guard  his  head. 

While  the  elder  folk  were  still  in  this  warlike 
attitude,  Ned  and  Susie  strolled  round  the  corner 
of  the  house.  His  hands  were  sunk  in  the 
pockets  of  an  ancient  coat,  and  she,  with  an  arm 
passed  through  one  of  his  and  her  fingers  inter- 
laced, was  lagging  slightly  and  looking  up  at  him 
as  she  talked.  They  stopped  and  regarded  their 
elders  seriously.  Uncle  Joseph  roared  to  them 
for  help. 

"  This  man,"  said  Aunt  Martha,  appealing  to 
the  younger  ones  as  she  subsided  into  her  chair, 
ruffled  but  relieved,  "  is  set  on  making  my  old 
age  miserable." 

"  This  woman,"  Uncle  Joseph  complained, 
pointing  her  out  with   a  large   thumb  and  fore- 

155 


DINKINBAR 

finger,  "  is  playing  old  gooseberry  with  my  pet 
schemes  for  improving  creation  all  round.  She 
has  no  more  spirit  or  ambition  than  a  mussel." 

"  It's  a  very  sad  case,"  the  girl  said,  shifting 
her  locked  fingers  till  they  rested  on  Ned's  arm, 
and  looking  up  solemnly  at  him.  "  What  is  to 
be  done  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  looking  sternly 
from  one  to  the  other  of  the  guilty  pair;  "it's 
against  my  principles  to  interfere  between  hus- 
band and  wife.  I  tried  it  once  at  the  '  Three 
Bushes,'  and  had  to  run  for  it.  And  we  can't 
get  the  horse-troopers  out  from  Bingo  for  any- 
thing short  of  murder." 

Harsher  methods  for  the  healing  of  the  domes- 
tic breach  having  been  debated  at  considerable 
length  and  abandoned  as  impracticable  and  pos- 
sibly unnecessarily  severe,  Susie,  obeying  an  un- 
spoken hint,  occupied  a  share  of  Aunt  Martha's 
big  chair  and  proceeded  to  urge  milder  counsels. 
The  men  fell  to  the  discussion  of  the  changes  that 
to-morrow  was  to  bring  in  the  working  of  the 
station. 

Her  few  weeks  of  Bush  life  had  given  to  the 
girl  those  ripening  touches  that  proclaim  the 
bloom-time  of  a  first  healthy  freedom  of  body  and 
limb.  As  she  settled  herself  down  in  the  chair 
with  a  nestling,   natural,  comfort-seeking  move- 

156 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

ment  beside  the  elder  woman,  there  was  in  the 
likeness  and  unlikeness  in  contour  and  colour  of 
the  two  a  portrayal  of  the  first  and  the  final  effects 
that  are  wrought  upon  home-bred  women  by  ex- 
posure to  the  opener  conditions  of  the  new  world. 
The  faint  brown  blush  of  tan  on  the  girl's  cheeks 
and  the  look  of  breezy  crispness  in  a  loose  strand 
of  hair  on  her  temple,  were  as  the  warm,  free 
springtide  of  health  that  had  set  out  upon  its  first 
stage  towards  the  fixed  and  weathered  tints  and 
lines  of  early  winter  in  Aunt  Martha's  toil-worn 
face  and  whitened  hair. 

There  was  a  new  comeliness — the  grace  of  new 
strength  from  holding  the  bridle-rein — in  the  slim 
left  hand  that  the  girl  thrust  gently  between  Aunt 
Martha's  fingers  as  they  lay  in  her  lap,  spare  and 
knotted,  and  so  work-worn  that  the  old  plain 
wedding  ring  was  half  dissolved. 

If  the  girl  had  grown  already  in  strength  and 
freedom  in  the  Bush,  she,  or  something,  had 
given  to  the  young  man  who  leaned  against  the 
verandah- post  uprightness  in  bearing  and  a  trim- 
ness  in  his  clothing  that  had  been  woefully  to  seek 
on  the  morning  when  he  had  found  the  strange 
white  creature  in  the  garden.  The  ruinous  hat 
had  given  place  to  one  of  woven  grass  of  a  sailor- 
ly pattern,  with  a  neatly  pinned  and  folded  pug- 
garee round  it ;  his  shirt  was  tidy,  and  had  all  the 

157 


DINKINBAR 

buttons  on,  and  he  wore  a  necktie ;  coat  and 
trousers  seemed  like  things  conscious  of  their  own 
dignity  and  fitness,  and  not,  as  formerly,  graceless 
grimy  makeshifts  for  the  mere  covering  of  naked- 
ness. The  man's  face  denoted  that  he  had  in- 
wardly lived  up  to  the  reformation  of  his  vest- 
ments. A  certain  shiftiness  of  gaze  —  not  of 
cunning,  but  of  a  mortal  shyness  and  the  dread 
of  detection  of  uncommitted  crimes — was  gone, 
and  the  lost  fearlessness  of  innocence  had  been 
almost  wholly  restored  to  the  blue  eyes.  The 
beard  had  been  trimmed,  moreover — amateurishly, 
as  the  scissor-marks  showed,  but  cunningly  too. 

The  sounds  of  shuffling  within  the  house,  and 
of  china  being  roughly  handled,  sent  Mrs.  Hey- 
rick  off  in  alarm  to  interpose  between  the  cook 
and  her  best  teacups,  the  tinkle  of  which  she  re- 
cognised with  motherly  intuition.  Susie  followed 
her  aunt,  and  the  men  were  left  alone  upon  the 
verandah. 

They  watched  the  pure,  hard  sky  in  silence  for 
a  while  ;  it  was  as  free  of  any  hint  of  moisture  as 
a  polished  turquoise.  Down  in  the  southern 
plains  the  drought  was  eating  into  the  flocks,  and 
driving  station  -  managers  towards  melancholy 
madness  and  station-owners  down  .the  road  to 
bankruptcy.  It  was  creeping  north,  too,  this  year, 
like  a  beleaguering  army,  and  already  the  flanking 

158 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

buttresses  of  the  basaltic  tablelands  were  seared 
and  desolate,  and  the  Meadow  Flat  cattle  were 
trooping  northward  like  a  routed  host.  As  yet, 
Dinkinbar  was  snug  and  secure,  with  its  shaded 
uplands  and  gorges  and  its  gushing  streams. 

"Snelling's  in  a  tight  place,  boy,"  Uncle  Joseph 
said  grimly  ;  "and  by  the  time  we've  bashed  his 
cattle  back  for  a  month  or  two,  it'll  be  too  tight  to  fit 
him,  I'm  thinking.  There's  a  sky  like  cast  steel. 
Look  at  it,  and  the  basalt  creeks  are  running 
fuller  than  they've  done  this  twenty  years.  It's 
war,  lad,  bloody  war." 

Ned  came  over  and  sat  down  in  Aunt  Martha's 
vacant  chair.  "  War  be  it,"  he  said,  folding  his 
arms  ;  "  war  to  the  stockwhip.  And  Meadow 
Flat — the  lost  province — your  Alsace  and  Lor- 
raine, eh,  Uncle  Joe  ?  Meadow  Flat  to  the  con- 
queror by  way  of  indemnity.      Hooray  !  " 

"Alsace  and  Lor — "  Uncle  Joseph  repeated 
carefully.  "  Oh,  ah.  You  fog  me  sometimes, 
you  brat,  since  you  and  the  girl  took  to  gettin'  up 
these  bales  of  books.  Alsace  !  " — he  chuckled 
profoundly — "good!     I  say,  Ned." 

"  What  ? " 

"  I'm  growing  old,  lad,  and  stiff,  and  mild,  like 
seasoned  whisky.  It's  you  that'll  have  to  comb 
out  these  new-chums,  and  train  'em  up — or  fetch 
'em  down,  rather — the  way  that  new-chums  ought 

159 


DINKINBAR 

to  go ;  down  to  their  milk."  Uncle  Joseph 
coughed  the  sturdy  cough  that  betokened  his  set- 
ting out  upon  a  delicate  matter. 

Ned  stirred  somewhat  uneasily  in  his  chair. 
"  This  cat  won't  fight,"  he  said  firmly.  "  I'll 
help  you  to  steady  these  chummies ;  and  if  the 
drought  holds,  please  God  you'll  give  Snelling  his 
marching  orders,  you  and  Morrison  between  you. 
Then  I'll  shove  north  or  west  somewhere,  and 
see  if  I  can't  peg  out  a  run  of  my  own." 

The  old  squatter  lay  back  and  twiddled  his 
thumbs  fiercely.  "  Oh,  you'll  go  north  or  west, 
will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it's  your  own  plan,  Uncle  Joe.  My 
little  pile  that  you  and  Morrison — more  power  to 
you — made  me  tie  up  till  I  got  my  colonial  experi- 
ence done,  that'll  start  a  tidy  cattle-run  up  about 
the  head  waters  of  the  Dennis  somewhere. 
There's  lots  of  room  there  yet  for  a  bit  of 
pioneering." 

Uncle  Joseph  snorted.  "  You're  grown  mighty 
independent,  youngster." 

"  Oh  !  And  I  wonder  who's  been  coming  the 
Gospel  of  Independence  over  me  these  last  seven 
years  ?  " 

The  master  of  Dinkinbar  growled  savagely  in 
his  sandy  beard,  then  suddenly  relented,  and  laid 
a   hand    on  the  younger    man's   knee.     "  I    did, 

1 60 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

boy,"  he  said  almost  apologetically,  "to  stiffen 
your  back.  Barring  the  first  year  or  two  when 
there  were  niggers  to  shoot,  you've  had  it  as 
tough  as  I've  had.  I  tried  your  grit  by  shoving 
you  down  the  roughest  road  I  could  find  for  you, 
and  you  fetched  through  it.  Do  you  suppose, 
you  young  idiot,  that  I  was  going  to  cocker  you 
up  all  the  time  with  notions  of  coming  out  as  my 
successor  at  the  end  of  your  colonial  experience  ? 
No  dashed  fear." 

The  elder  man  had  unconsciously  assumed  the 
attitude  and  accents  of  a  pleader,  and  was  moving 
the  younger  one's  knee  gently  to  and  fro.  "  You 
can  teach  the  old  man  his  business  on  the  cattle- 
run  now,  Ned.  And  you've  been  to  Melbourne 
with  bullocks." 

"  Any  fool  can  do  that,"  said  Ned.  He  was 
staring  at  the  floor  in  a  bewildered  way  and 
breathing  deeply. 

"  Any  idiot ;  Lord,  yes  !  Any  idiot  can  run 
this  station  better  than  I  can  myself,  only  I 
happen  to  want  a  particular  brand  of  chuckle- 
head."  Uncle  Joseph  desperately  tightened  his 
grip  on  the  knee.  "  How  the  blazes,  man,  am  I 
going  to  work  the  two  runs,  when  I  kick  out 
Snelling,  without  you  ?  "  he  said  ferociously. 

"You'll  have  the  chummies." 

"  Chummies  be  "     Uncle  Joseph  looked 

161  M 


DINKINBAR 

behind  him  guiltily  ;  then  he  sat  up  as  if  re-enter- 
ing into  possession  of  his  lost  authority,  and 
pointed  his  conclusions  by  firmly  delivering  with 
each  one  a  blow  on  the  knee  beside  him.  "  You 
stay  here  ;  and  for  good.  I  need  you ;  the  station 
must  have  you,  and  your  aunt  would  fret  her 
heart  out  if  you  went. — And  there's  more  than 
that."  Uncle  Joseph  was  patting  the  knee  now, 
and  looking  up  with  transparent  cunning. 
"  You're  not  the  breed  to  go  away  and  thrash 
out  a  station  for  yourself,  by  yourself,  the  way 
I  did.  Nay,  it's  no  discredit  to  you,  boy  ;  it's  the 
other  thing.  The  old  woman  spotted  it.  When 
we  came  out  from  home  " — Uncle  Joseph  seemed 
for  an  instant  to  cast  about  despairingly  for 
euphemisms,  and  then  to  fall  back  with  relief 
upon  his  native  bluntness — "  when  we  came  out 
from  home,  you  had  a  touch  of  queerness  on  you. 
Eh,  but  you  had.  It's  best  to  say  it.  Go  a  trip 
on  the  roads,  and  never  go  down  to  Melbourne  ? 
And  the  Races  on  ?  See  that !  And  spend  weeks 
at  the  out-station,  not  alone,  but  worse  ?  " 

A  dire  confusion  had  laid  hold  of  Ned,  and  he 
made  an  effort  to  rise  as  he  rubbed  his  forehead, 
suddenly  grown  wet. 

"Sit  down  ;  be  a  man  " — Uncle  Joseph  pushed 
him  firmly  back.  "  I  hear  the  teacups — the 
women  are  coming  in  a  minute ;  listen.     You  talk 

162 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

about  carving  a  cattle-station  out  of  the  wilder- 
ness for  yourself.  You  have  the  hands,  sonny ; 
you  haven't  the  head.  You'd  turn  hatter — and 
you'd  do  better  to  put  a  loaded  pistol  to  your 
mouth  and  let  it  go,  than  that.  Or  you'd  turn 
combo — live  nigger-fashion  and  hate  your  own 
colour — and  there's  no  horror  in  hell  worse  than 
that,  for  a  white  man.  My  boy,  I've  been  near 
enough  to  it  to  sniff  the  brimstone  myself;  and 
I've  seen  good  men  go  down  that  way,  God  pity 
'em.  Now,  not  another  word  from  you  or  me 
about  it — it's  fixed.  You're  shaken,  boy  ;  turn 
down  the  brim  of  your  hat.  That's  it ;  I'll  do  the 
talking  for  a  minute  or  two.  Steady  now," 
Uncle  Joseph  finished  in  a  whisper ;  "  don't  go  to 
damnation,  but  stay  for — Caesar !  as  if  I'd  planned 
it !     Look  at  that." 

Surely  all  the  nine  Muses  had  conspired  to- 
gether to  pay  a  surprise  visit  to  Uncle  Joseph — 
who  was  as  resourceless  in  the  planning  of 
dramatic  situations  as  his  own  beeves — in  order 
to  body  forth  the  very  essence  of  his  thought. 
At  that  moment  Susie,  stepping  out  to  the  music 
of  her  own  singing  of  an  impromptu  processional 
hymn,  issued  from  the  front  door  with  a  loaded 
tray  balanced  on  her  ten  finger-tips  as  high  as 
her  own  forehead.  Aunt  Martha  followed,  watch- 
ing the  girl  with  a  somewhat  anxious  pride,  and 

163 


DINKINBAR 

cumbered  with  a  large  teapot  held  in  both  hands, 
a  small  folding-table  under  one  arm,  and  an  em- 
broidered tea-cloth  held  beneath  the  other.  "  Be 
careful,  child,"  she  said  demurely,  "  and  catch  the 
teapot,  Joe." 

Susie  threw  back  her  head  and  lifted  the  tray- 
above  it.  "  Caution,"  she  said  grandly,  "  is  for 
fools,  and  the  gods  have  our  best  china  in  their 
keeping.  Unlimber  the  mahogany,  aunty,  while 
I  orate  a  little  to  these  men,  and  explain  that  this 
is  an  occasion." 

"It  is  that,"  Uncle  Joseph  said  gently,  and 
with  unaccustomed  piety. 

"  Silence  in  the  pit,  please.  This  is  the  bring- 
ing in  of  the  baked  peacock,  the  cook's  chef 
d'ceuvre — translate  'chief  duffer' — at  the  end  of 
the  old  Thingumies'  banquet.  Kindly  note  my 
attitude.  No,  no,  I  forgot,"  Susie  added  hurriedly; 
"  bring  yourselves  up  to  date,  please,  and  observe, 
before  my  arms  get  tired,  that  the  tableau  repre- 
sents '  Sunday  Afternoon  Tea  in  the  Bush  '  ;  which 
it  is  the  '  Assault  of  Civilization  on  the  Back- 
blocks,'  or  '  How  the  Barbarians  got  their  Nails 
Trimmed.'  Is  the  altar  ready,  aunty  ?  Then 
down  comes  the  Holy  Grail."  She  lowered  the 
tray  exultingly,  and  began  to  set  out  the  tea- 
things  as  she  described  the  campaign  she  had 
fought    that    morning   against    Dick,   before  she 

164 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

gained  a  footing  in  the  kitchen  in  order  to  bake 
the  tea-cakes. 

She  had,  it  appeared,  won  possession  of  the 
fire  and  the  camp-oven  by  stratagem,  for  she  had 
rushed  to  Dick  in  horror  to  report  that  all  the 
milkers'  calves  were  loose.  Having  taken  the 
citadel  by  fraud,  she  had  held  it  by  flattery,  for 
when  Dick  had  returned  in  a  fury,  he  had  found 
her  heedless  of  her  baking,  but  consumed  with  a 
desire  to  have  her  ideas  put  right  as  to  what  was 
really  the  ideal  form  of  government.  Dick  had 
promptly  fallen  into  the  trap,  and  for  a  whole 
hour  he  had  discoursed  pithily  on  his  pet  hobby. 
By  the  time  he  had  demonstrated  the  rottenness 
of  all  monarchical  institutions  and  the  villainy  of 
all  the  advocates  of  their  continuance,  and  had 
thoroughly  established  his  vague  and  violent 
republicanism,  the  cakes  were  done  to  a  turn. 

"  It  was  a  triumph  of  mind  over  politics  and 
other  things  that  don't  matter,"  Susie  declared  as 
she  settled  down  to  a  frank  and  healthy  enjoy- 
ment of  her  own  tea.  "  These  buns  " — she  eyed 
one  of  her  bannocks  admiringly — "  are  substantial, 
and  nourishing,  and  homely,  like  big,  honest 
Charlotte  Maclver.  She  taught  me  how  to  make 
them,  aunty.  They're  not  quite  so  formidable, 
or  so  like  military  redoubts  as  hers,  but  they're 
having  a  hard  time  of  it,  all  the  same,  to  live  up 
to  the  border  of  that  table-cover." 

165 


DINKINBAR 

"  You'll  be  for  hanging  bunches  of  chintz  and 
fal-lals  round  the  stockyard  soon,"  said  Uncle 
Joseph  sternly,  "  the  rate  you're  going." 

"  Chintz!"  she  pulled  his  beard  ;  "it's  a  working 
compromise  we're  going  in  for  between — ah — be- 
tween thegreenhide  and  the  chiffon  states  of  living, 
just  a  half-way  house  in  the  way  of  culture,  as 
Dinkinbar  is  by  the  road,  between  the  styles  of 
big,  bonny  Charlotte  Maclver  and  what  you  call 
'  That  Stormonth  Girl,'  Uncle  Joe." 

"Where  have  all  the  boys  got  to?"  Uncle 
Joseph  asked,  after  looking  with  a  twinkle  at  his 
wife. 

Susie  began  to  bustle  afresh,  and  with  a 
heightened  colour,  about  the  tea-table. 

"  If  I  don't  mistake,"  said  Ned,  "there  comes 
one  of  them." 

Susie  looked  out  across  the  plain,  shading  her 
eyes.  "  It's  Hulbert,"  she  said,  "and — how  appro- 
priate— !  he's  riding  a  winged  horse.  Broken- 
winged,  I'm  afraid,  but  it's  certainly  Pegasus." 

Sure  enough,  wide  wings  were  swaying  at  each 
side  of  Hulbert's  mount  as  he  rode  up  with  a  gun 
on  his  shoulder.  As  he  came  nearer,  it  was  seen 
that  at  either  side  of  his  saddle  was  hanging  an 
enormous  wild  turkey.  The  horse  he  rode,  old 
Tearaway,  had  been  in  his  day  the  finest  stock- 
horse  on  the  run  ;  but  had  latterly,  in  his  old  age, 

166 


AFTERNOON    TEA 

and  on  account  of  his  wisdom  and  his  steadiness 
under  gunfire,  been  promoted  to  act  as  turkey- 
horse. 

Hulbert  was  already  richly  tanned,  and  had 
grown  firmer  ami  lither  of  body,  though  the  un- 
defined eagerness  in  his  long  face  had  become 
accentuated.  He  blushed  a  rich  brown  crimson 
when,  in  giving  an  account  of  his  day,  he  told, 
with  the  nervous  openness  that  is  so  often  misread 
as  dissimulation,  that  he  had  been  over  to  the 
Mad  vers'.  He  reddened  again  as  if  in  self- 
accusation  of  betraying  a  comrade,  after  admitting 
absently  that  Creswell  had  ridden  over  to  the 
Snellings',  and  that  he  believed  Aplin  and  Finlay 
had  gone  to  the  'Three  Bushes'  over  some  business 
of  the  forthcoming  race-meeting  to  be  held  there. 
On  each  admission,  Susie  made  a  diversion  to 
save  him  from  his  self-created  awkwardness,  and 
then  appeared  to  repent  of  her  impetuosity. 

Still,  the  first  taking  of  afternoon  tea  on  the 
home  model,  on  Dinkinbar  cattle-station,  was  a 
cosy  and  comforting  affair,  and  the  little  party, 
once  they  were  launched  upon  the  safer  waters  of 
impersonal  talk,  sat  about  the  teacups  till  the 
dusk  began  to  fall  and  until  the  cynical,  superior 
Dick  appeared  and  broke  up  the  gathering  with 
some  well-directed,  subtle  gibes,  signifying  scorn 

of  the  whole  affair. 

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CHAPTER    X 
Susie's    Letter 

"  Dinkinbar  Station, 

"  Bingo  District, 

"  Queensland. 

"  l\/fY  DARLING  J™ — 
_VA      "There's  a    kind  of   baronial  breadth 

about   the    address,   isn't  there  ?    only   there's    a 

sound   in  these    lovely   wild    names    up-top    like 

the  beatine  of  tom-toms  and  the  music  of  those 

interminable    four- note    songs    the    blacks    sing 

round  their  wee  fires  under  the  big  naked  trees 

at  night.     You're  in  for  it  this  time,  my  superior 

James,  for  stuh  a  screed  !     I  started  a  real  letter 

to   you   once  before,  directly   I   got  here.     That 

was  to    be   the   beginning  of  a  sort    of  '  Diary 

of    Impressions' — ugh!      A    butterfly    might    as 

well  try  to  edit  a  Blue  Book.     I   got  as  far  as 

the  superscription,  and  then,  what  with  the  awful- 

ness  of  this  queer,  wild  place  at  first  and  a  huge 

mauve-coloured  ant  that  came  to  fight  me  for  the 

inkpot,    and  the  thought  of   how   you'd  squirm 

1 68 


SUSIE'S    LETTER 

at  my  bad  grammar  and  fine  writing,  the  mind 
in  me  just  went  dumb  and  dead  with  blue  funk. 
I  tore  the  thing  into  shreds,  and  vowed  I'd  keep 
to  formalities — and  I  have  too — till  I  recovered 
my  impudence.  Now  I'm  better,  thank  you,  and 
I'm  not  afraid  of  ants,  no,  nor  of  snakes,  and 
every  time  your  goddess  of  style — I'm  sure  she 
has  a  face  as  plain  as  a  flower-pot — gets  bothering 
me  about  periods  and  punctuation  and  things, 
I'm  going  to  press  the  left  thumb  to  my  nose 
and  extend  the  fingers  towards  her — so.  And 
I'm  going  to  play  Donnybrook  Fair  amongst 
all  the  rules  of  grammar  that  I  can  think  of. 
So  there  ! 

"Jim,  when  you  told  me  about  the  Bush,  and 
said  it  was  all  wild  beasties  and  creepy  things, 
and  turned  women  into  drabs  and  men  into 
brutes  with  all  the  piggyments  they  had  to  go 
through,  you  were  a  little  bit  right  and  a  big  bit 
wrong.  I'd  call  you  a  Molly  if  I  didn't  think 
you'd  get  in  a  rage  and  read  no  more  of  this, 
and  I  don't  want  to  rob  you  of  a  treat.  But 
you  were  like  a  man,  Jimmy  dear,  that  turns 
up  his  nose  at  a  lovely  dinner  because  he  has 
fetched  a  microscope  and  keeps  examining  the 
cheese-mites  under  it  and  the  dragony  things 
in  the  drinking-water  that  eat  one  another,  and 
says — the  man  says,  not  the  dragon — that  every- 

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DINKINBAR 

thing  else  on  the  table,  from  the  soup  to  the 
sweets  and  the  wine,  must  be  every  bit  as  creepy 
and  disgusting.  That  sounds  so  wise,  I'm  sure 
it's  cribbed. 

"  At  first  I  believed  you.  You  had  lent  me 
your  microscope,  and  I  saw  nothing  but  the 
creepy-crawleys.  Not  at  the  very  first,  though, 
when  I  was  in  the  garden  on  my  first  morning 
watching  the  dawn — people  in  towns  forget  the 
world's  born  innocent  every  morning — and  think- 
ing what  a  lovely  thing  it  was  to  be  alive.  Then 
a  big,  hairy,  touzly  man  came  by  the  wall.  First 
I  nearly  screamed,  and  then  I  ran  for  him.  It 
was  Ned,  and  he  didn't  know  I  was  coming ! 
And  I  didn't  know  he  had  come  home  with 
cattle  in  the  night!     What  did  he  think? 

"  Weren't  there  two  great  men  once  who  met 
for  the  first  time  and  wanted  to  talk  big  and 
deep,  and  could  only  think  of  cheese  or  cherries 
or  something  to  talk  about  ?  Well,  that  was  us. 
Ned  began  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way  about 
the  cows ;  he  was  going  milking,  and  I  went  with 
him,  and  he  introduced  me  to  the  cattle-dogs,  and 
we  let  out  the  fowls,  both  of  us,  outwardly,  just 
as  if  we  had  been  round  the  station  every  morning 
the  last  seven  years. 

"  First  I  thought  you  were  right  about  him 
and  that  all  the  dirt  and  the  hard  living  and  the 

170 


SUSIE'S    LETTER 

creepy-crawlies  had  crinkled  him  and  dried  him 
up  right  through,  body  and  bones  and  heart  and 
soul,  just  like  his  face  and  hands,  for  they  did 
look  scorchy.  Well,  so  long  as  we  talked  about 
the  old  times,  when  we  fought  and  sulked  and 
loved  one  another  turn  about,  it  was  all  right. 
But  the  minute  we  tried  to  bring  ourselves  up 
to  date,  we  found  that  some  dour,  dumb,  horrible 
thing  had  come  between  us  in  these  years.  It 
wasn't  always  there.  Sometimes  when  I  caught 
him  looking  at  me  on  the  sly,  or  when  he  was 
talking  in  his  funny,  queer  understanding  way 
to  the  animals,  he  was  as  simple  as  daylight 
and  gentler  than  any  woman  ;  and  then  I  wanted 
to  laugh  and  cry  both  together.  But  the  next 
minute,  if  something  happened  suddenly,  some- 
thing exciting  like  when  a  cow  rushed  at  me  and 

when  he  rode  the  buckjumper,  he 

"  I  slapped  your  goddess  there,  Jim  ;  he  looked 
like  a  man  in  hell.  And  then  I  felt  as  if  all  the 
beasts  out  of  all  my  nightmares  had  come  out 
in  broad  daylight  between  me  and  him.  You 
may  just  play  with  your  cigarette  and  look  at 
your  nails  in  that  exasperating  way  as  much 
as  you  please — I  can't  see  you,  and  I  don't  care ; 
but  I'm  like  the  man  with  the  donkey's  ears, 
I  must  tell  some  one  or — bust.  When  Ned 
looked    like   that,    I    was   in   a    nightmare,  or    it 

171 


DINKINBAR 

seems  so  when  I  look  back  at  it ;  the  night- 
mary  beasts  were  crawling  over  him  and  smother- 
ing him,  and  he  was  calling  out  to  me  to  help 
him.  And  I  knew  that  if  I  could  only  rush  at 
him  and  give  him  a  good  hugging  and  kissing, 
the  way  I  used  to  do,  that  he  would  be  all  right 
again  and  like  his  old  self.  But  then  the  beasts 
were  holding  me  too,  and  I  couldn't  stir.  And 
every  time  I  thought  of  it  afterwards  it  seemed 
just  too  silly  and  wild  for  anything ;  but  there 
it  was.  It  was  all  so  weird — that  is,  in  the  first 
week  or  so ;  it's  all  right  now — and  I  felt  so 
helpless  and  dumb  and  distressed  about  it  all  that 
I  thought  the  worst  you  had  told  me  about 
the  effects  of  the  piggyness  and  things  was  quite 
harmless  compared  to  the  reality.  Fancy  how 
young  I  was  then !  I,  Featherhead,  thought  I 
would  come  out  here  and  civilize  them.  On  the 
very  second  day  after  that  buckjumping,  which 
was  splendid  only  for  Ned's  terrible  face  again 
while  the  horse  was  trying  to  throw  him,  I  came 
in  so  horrified  and  heartsick  and  homesick  that 
I  tore  up  the  beginnings  of  what  was  to  be  a  nice 
prim,  tame  little  letter  to  you,  that  was  to  have 
been  the  first  of  a  series  to  tell  you  how  nicely 
I  was  tidying  everything  up  here,  from  Uncle 
Joseph  to  the  cook  !  I  seemed  to  wish  I  had 
been   sent  down  to  dam    Niagara  or  something 

172 


SUSIE'S    LETTER 

instead,  and  I  sat  down  and  cried  for  half  an 
hour.  It  was  hard  work,  sitting  there  biting  my 
handkerchief  so  as  to  make  no  noise,  for  you 
remember  there  are  no  ceilings  here,  and  it  felt 
horribly  public. 

"  Now  what  has  happened  since  then  to  make 
me  quite  sure  that  all  that  was  nonsense  ?  I  don't 
know.  But  I  do  know  that  somehow  you  kept 
your  attention  fixed  too  much  on  the  beasties  and 
discomfortables  of  the  Bush,  and  that  a  man — a 
nice  man,  mind  you — is  the  better  for  'weather- 
ing' them,  as  Uncle  Joseph  calls  it.  He's 
simpler  and  stronger.  I  know  I'm  cribbing  this 
time,  or  going  to,  so  I'd  better  own  up.  You 
remember  Browning's  poem  that  you  used  to 
rave  at  me  for  not  understanding  ?  I  under- 
stand it  now.  I've  been  reading  it  with  Ned. 
The  Arab  Doctor  Karshish  is  so  puzzled  and  so 
ashamed  of  his  puzzlement,  that  the  openness 
and  happiness  of  poor  old  Lazarus  seems  so 
absurdly  simple,  and  yet  so  much  subtler  than 
all  the  doctors'  nostrums  and  philosophy.  Lazarus 
is  quite  sure  that  he  was  raised  up  from  the  dead, 
and  afterwards  taught  how  to  be  contented  with 
the  little  things  about  him  by  no  other  than  God 
in  the  form  of  a  certain  Nazarene  (who  Karshish 
says,  you  remember,  in  a  kind  of  '  by  the  way ' 
fashion,   '  perished  in  a  tumult ').      He  says  that 

173 


DINKINBAR 

of  course  Lazarus  is  mad,  but  he  thinks  it's  '  very 
strange.'  I  don't,  not  now ;  but  then,  I  haven't 
got  a  headful  of  prescriptions,  or  a  professional 
reputation  to  keep  up,  as  Karshish  had,  before 
the  master  that  he  was  writing  to. 

"  Ned,  with  his  fearlessness  and  his  lovely 
tenderness  all  the  same  for  helpless  things, 
reminds  me  now  of  a  young  Lazarus.  Good 
bushmen  have  seen  God  face  to  face.  Jim,  when 
a  gentleman  gets  the  free  flavour  of  the  Bush 
about  him,  he  becomes  a  rarer  being-,  like 
Lazarus.  You  may  give  him  a  finer  title  by 
splitting  up  the  old  one.  He  becomes  a  gentle 
man.     That's  what  Ned  is,  I'm  quite  sure. 

"  But  how  about  the  dumb  devils  in  his  eyes, 
says  you  ?  They're  gone.  And  I've  never 
hugged  or  kissed  him,  not  once.  Mind  you, 
I  wasn't  the  only  one  that  noticed  the  devils. 
Uncle  Joseph  and  Aunt  Martha  were  frightened 
too,  a  little,  when  we  came.  They  said  he  was 
inclined  to  go  queer — they  said  it  with  a  big  Q — 
and  that  he  wanted  company,  or  else  he  might 
turn  into  a  hatter  (lovely  word,  means  lonely- 
mad),  and  once  the  uncle  said  something  about 
a  Combo.  The  auntie  seemed  awfully  frightened 
then,  and  looked  at  me  and  called  out  '  Steady, 
Joe,'  but  I  don't  know  what  it  means.  Now  they 
seem  to  be  quite  happy  about  him,  and  so  am    I. 

174 


SUSIE'S    LETTER 

I  often  laugh  over  my  fears  now.  It  isn't  quite 
right  to  say  Ned's  devils  are  gone,  for  then  he 
would  be  just  like  anybody  else.  They're  tamed, 
and  all  you  can  see  of  them  now  is  that  what 
is  left  of  them  makes  him  look  terribly  sad,  some- 
how, as  if  he  had  lost  some  precious  thing  and 
was  never  to  find  it.  But  that's  only  sometimes, 
when  I  catch  him  suddenly  round  corners. 
Generally  he's  full  of  the  quietest  fun,  fun  that 
hurts  nobody,  the  sort  that  doesn't  get  into  the 
comic  papers.  You  would  need  to  see  him  talk- 
ing to  a  particular  pet  bandy-legged  kitten  of 
his,  or  lecturing  the  cattle-dogs,  or  doing  character- 
analysis  of  a  horse,  or  something  of  that  kind, 
to  understand  it.  That  sounds  rather  mad,  but 
it's  all  I  can  tell  you  about  it.  You  must  have 
missed  this  most  lovable  phase  of  Ned,  or  did 
he  not  show  it  to  you  ? 

"  And  that  brings  me  to  my  nextly.  I  saw 
the  penetrating  lift  to  your  right  eyebrow  over 
these  'lovelies'  and  that  'lovable'  of  mine.  'Of 
course,'  it  said — the  eyebrow  said — 'he's  been 
making  love  to  her.  And  she  likes  it'  Well, 
that's  just  what  he  hasrit  done.  And  that's  why 
she  likes  him,  and  sometimes  hates  the  others, 
because  they  all  have,  or  would  have,  if  I  had 
let  them.  Not  on  board  ship,  or  on  the  way 
up,  but  as  soon  as  I  was  alone  here — Jim,  it  was 

175 


DINKINBAR 

awful !  All  except  Creswell.  I  don't  think  he'll 
ever  make  love  to  any  one  unless  it's  good  business. 
But  the  others,  as  soon  as  I  was  alone  here,  with 
no  other  girls  about !  Poor  Hulbert!  the  yearn- 
ful  way  he's  lain  in  wait  for  me,  and  the  dodging 
I've  done  and  the  lies  I've  told  to  keep  clear 
of  him.  And  Aplin  !  I  don't  want  to  be  unkind 
— you'll  burn  this — but  Aplin  has  terrified  me. 
The  way  he  laughs,  with  his  big  jaw,  and  his 
ragged  teeth,  and  his  wee  forehead.  It's — I  can't 
help  it — it's  so  like  an  ape.  One  Sunday  night 
he  came  home  late.  I  was  alone  near  the  creek, 
and  he  suddenly  came  behind  me  and  caught 
me  by  the  wrist.  I  think  I  cried  out  a  little, 
a  very  little.  He  had  been  drinking.  What 
he  said  I  hardly  know.  But  his  face  !  I  did  not 
know  men  ever  looked  like  that,  except  in  pictures. 
I  told  him  somehow,  quite  gently,  that  he  was 
hurting  me,  and  he  let  me  go.  I  wasn't  afraid 
then,  for  I  saw  Ned  coming  up  very  quickly 
and  quietly  behind  Aplin.  I  believe  I  began 
to  talk  nonsense  very  rapidly,  and  I  went  away. 
The  men  said  nothing  that  I  heard  ;  but  that 
night  Ned  brought  his  blankets  quietly  and  slept 
outside  my  door.  I  know,  because  at  the  earliest, 
tiniest  peep-o'- day  I  heard  Blucher,  the  cattle-dog, 
whining  there  and  wagging  his  tail  against  the 
wall,  and  I  called  him,  and  Ned  answered,  saying 

176 


SUSIE'S    LETTER 

it  was  all  right,  and  that  he  was  just  going  after 
the  horses.  But  his  head  was  low  down,  and 
afterwards  I  saw  where  the  edge  of  his  blanket 
was  pressed  into  a  little  dusty  hollow  in  the  ant- 
bed  floor.  I  knew  it  was  his,  because  I  stitched 
it  for  him  in  a  particular  way — the  way  mater 
taught  me.  See  what  a  tracker  I'm  getting ! 
Very  soon  afterwards  there  was  a  new  padlock 
and  key  fastened  to  my  door  and  window-shutter. 
I  wonder  who  fixed  them  there  ?  Ned  or  I 
never  mentioned  either  the  sleeping  or  the  pad- 
locks. 

"  And  then  Finlay !  He's  dumb ;  but  he's 
getting  so  dirty.  It's  no  trouble  to  muzzle  his 
love-making  ;  but  he  will  not  wash  himself  or  his 
clothes.  When  he  lumbers  up  towards  being 
sentimental,  I  turn  the  subject  on  washing,  and  he 
gets  to  work  furiously  for  a  little  while  with 
the  soap,  and  then  dies  away  again  into  dirt. 
What  will  become  of  him  when  he  and  Aplin 
go  to  camp  alone — they  are  going  soon — Heaven 
only  knows.  Ned  was  untidy  and  rough  when 
we  came,  and  stoopy,  and  wouldn't  look  you  in 
the  face  for  long.  But  I  only  just  sewed  on  a 
few  buttons  and  that  sort  of  thing  for  him,  and 
once  I  clipped  his  beard.  Now  he's  quite 
changed. 

"  Uncle  Joseph   says   this  place  makes  young 

177  N 


DINKINBAR 

fellows  into  men,  if  they  have  the  makings  in  them. 
I  was  angry  at  that  at  first ;  now  I'm  puzzled 
and  frightened.  I  thought  I  might  have  helped 
them  a  little ;  but  there's  something  stronger 
than  me  that  lays  hold  of  people  and  makes  them 
different,  sometimes  finer  and  gentler,  but  often — 
I'm  not  going  to  speculate,  I'm  trying  to  tell  you 
what  I  see.  These  boys  must  go  their  way.  If 
I  put  out  a  hand  to  help,  it's  misunderstood. 

"  Ned  has  been  his  way,  a  long,  long  way,  and 
back ;  he  seems  to  have  been  through  a  fire,  and 
to  have  seen  strange  things.  He  never  mis- 
understands anything,  and  I  can  trust  him  like 
a  brother.  I  like  to  be  near  him  ;  everything 
feels  safe  then.  I  love  Aunt  Martha — she's 
motherly  to  me.  It's  no  use  to  try  and  tell  how ; 
it's  good  to  cuddle  her,  and  women — men  too,  I 
think—must  have  cuddlement  or  starve.  But 
Aunt  Martha  isn't  everything.  She's  the  warm 
snuggery  I  can  run  to  when  I  feel  naughty,  and 
rumpled,  and  bewildered.  She  comforts  me,  and 
when  I'm  outside  the  snuggery  she  doesn't  know 
where  I'm  going  sometimes.  That's  when  she  says 
'  child,  dear.'  Ned's  bigger,  but  not  so  human  to 
me.  He's  the  cathedral,  or  the  sunset,  or  the  sea- 
shore, or  the  one  answering  string  in  a  whole  room- 
ful of  harps — the  things  that  answer  you  and  say 
nothing.      I  don't  want  to  hug  him  now,  now  his 

178 


SUSIE'S    LETTER 

queer  devils  have  gone  without  chasing  that  way. 
I  get  quite  hot  sometimes  when  I  think  of  the 
mad  fits  that  took  me  the  first  day  or  two  I  saw 
him.  You  can't  kiss  the  sea  or  the  sunset,  can 
you  ? 

"  I  had  to  write  all  this  headlong,  Jimmy,  or 
freeze.  I  don't  know  what's  in  it — it  just  came. 
It's  taken  me  three  days  off  and  on  while  the  hot 
fits  were  on  me,  and  I  won't  read  it  over,  for  there 
isn't  time.  The  mailman  is  here,  and  almost 
ready  to  start.  I  know  I  feel  much  better  for 
writing,  and  you  can  make  the  most  of  it.  I'm 
grown  strong,  and  brown,  and  I  don't  care  a  hang 
about  my  complexion.  I've  learned  to  ride  as 
if  I  was  born  to  it,  and  I've  discovered  that 
I  never  lived  till  now,  when  I  know  what  it  is  to 
feel  the  air  singing  in  my  ears  when  there's  a 
galloping  horse  under  me  and  Ned's  going  along- 
side. This  is  all  about  me,  but  there's  a  lot  to 
follow  about  the  neighbours,  and — oh,  millions 
of  things,  including  Dick,  our  philosopher  cook. 
The  world  has  grown  big.  I  hear  the  mailman 
getting  ready.  Write  me  a  big  letter.  Try 
smacking  the  goddess,  as  I've  done. 

"  Your  loving  sister, 

"  Shoozan." 

1  P.S. — My  love  to  the  mater." 


179 


CHAPTER  XI 
Colonial  Experience 

THE  drought  crept  along  the  basaltic  lands 
and  seared  first  the  higher  ridges  and  then 
the  richer,  deep-soiled,  lower-lying  stretches  of 
Dinkinbar,  till,  from  the  southern  boundary  to  the 
bark-walled  out-station  in  the  north,  the  country 
grew  desolate,  and  wastage  of  the  herd  began 
in  the  death  here  and  there  of  weaker  cattle. 
Drought  is  crueller  than  war,  for  it  kills  only  the 
defenceless.  The  squatter  has  no  weapons  to 
fight  against  a  brazen  sky  and  an  earth  of  iron, 
or  has  forgotten  how  to  use  them  ;  he  must  sit 
idle,  and  idleness  enforced,  when  the  work  of  a 
man's  best  years  is  being  undone  before  his  eyes, 
is  apt  to  breed  the  irritation  that  in  a  congenial 
subject  leads  on  to  madness. 

Mr.  Joseph  Heyrick  suffered  from  the  irritation 
none  the  less  that  in  his  case  it  was  little  likely, 
even  at  the  worst,  to  make  for  the  dethronement 
of  his  stable  and  sturdy  reason.  He  saw  himself 
condemned  to  idleness ;  but  all  the  more  on  that 
account   he    resolved    that   any    opening   on    the 

1 80 


COLONIAL    EXPERIENCE 

cattle-run  for  the  activity  of  others  should  be 
utilized  to  the  uttermost.  He  set  the  new- chums 
to  their  appointed  tasks  and  kept  them  to  busi- 
ness, taking  grim  consolation  in  the  fact  that  so 
far  as  in  him  lay  he  was  circumventing  the  malig- 
nant elements,  and  adding  considerably  to  the 
burdens  of  his  detested  neighbour  to  the  south. 

That  little  band  of  young  Englishmen  had  been 
organised  by  Mr.  Hey  rick  on  the  tightest  prin- 
ciples, financial  and  domestic,  for  their  own  good 
and  for  that  of  Dinkinbar  station  ;  and  the  squatter 
set  them  to  work  about  his  run  to  help  him 
through  the  hard  time  with  no  misgiving  that 
their  coming-,  and  the  work  that  he  allotted  to 
each  of  them,  was  anything  but  the  manifestly 
right  and  proper  thing  for  both  him  and  them. 

But  there  is  another  way  of  looking  at  the 
lives  of  young  Britons  who  go  abroad.  They 
may  go  out  nowadays  to  the  curious  corners  of 
the  earth,  travelling  hotel-wise,  down  buoyed  and 
metalled  roads,  and  may  be  bound,  indentured, 
and  their  living,  when  abroad,  mapped  out  and 
paid  for,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Dinkinbar  new- 
chums.  And  yet  they  may  be  still — unless  they 
go  as  chained  oarsmen  in  some  galley  of  routine 
of  Church  or  State — as  a  pinch  of  downy  seed 
unknown  to  botany  that  is  cast  loose  upon  the 
winds    of    the    world.       So    far    as    parents    or 

181 


DINKINBAR 

guardians  at  home  can  foretell  as  to  what  the 
new  conditions  are  to  write  upon  the  characters 
of  their  boys,  we  might  as  well  be  still  in  the 
early  times  of  Drake,  when,  according  to  popular 
belief,  the  edge  of  the  world,  or  the  jaws  of  Hell, 
or  both,  lurked  behind  the  tempests  that  yelled 
around  the  Horn. 

Midway  along  the  southern  boundary  of  Din- 
kinbar  there  lay  the  old  heifer-paddock,  some 
rough  yards  and  ramshackle  out-station  buildings. 
Five  miles  to  the  east  there  was  the  Snelling 
homestead,  and  five  to  the  westward,  on  the  main 
northern  road,  the  hostelry  of  the  "Three  Bushes." 
Three  of  the  new-chums  were  sent  to  camp  at  the 
old  paddock,  and  entrusted  with  the  responsibili- 
ties suited,  according  to  Mr.  Heyrick's  estimate, 
to  their  varying  capacity.  Creswell,  with  Moltke 
and  Blucher  to  help  him,  was  to  beat  back,  with 
all  undue  ferocity,  the  Meadow  Flat  cattle,  after 
drafting  them  gently  from  the  Dinkinbar  herd, 
while  Aplin  and  Finlay  were  to  engage  in  pulling 
out  and  coiling  up  for  future  use  the  wire  from 
the  fence  of  the  dilapidated  and  abandoned  pad- 
dock. Wire-pulling,  even  with  great  ends  in 
view,  is  not  ennobling,  and  Creswell's  stock-keep- 
ing, though  it  had  something  of  the  stir  of  battle 
in  it,  was  not  being  carried  on  under  happy  con- 
ditions.    A  warm  gale  of  wind  will  brown  in  a 

182 


COLONIAL    EXPERIENCE 

single  night  a  field  of  oats  that  was  green  at 
sundown,  and  shake  out  half  the  grain,  ripe  but 
wizened,  before  the  morning.  What  with  the 
sudden  isolation,  the  unalleviated  drudgery,  the 
kiln-dried  atmosphere,  and  the  bodily  and  spiri- 
tual effects  upon  them  of  their  daily  outrage  of 
every  law  of  cookery  and  housekeeping,  the  new- 
chums,  after  three  weeks  or  so,  did  their  work  on 
bare  nerves  ;  they  were  doing  an  early  stage  of 
their  colonisation  at  the  double,  and,  like  the 
wind-blown  grain,  were  being  warped  and  wasted 
by  a  too  rapid  development. 

And  yet,  supposing  a  casual  visitor,  full  of 
ignorant  and  newspaper-fed  enthusiasm  for  the 
Colonial  ideal,  to  have  been  dropped  down  sud- 
denly out  of,  say,  Fleet  Street,  by  the  heifer- 
paddock,  one  might  have  pardoned  him  if  he  had 
looked  about  him  at  the  broad  sweep  of  Greater 
Britain  before  him  with  more  complacency  than 
was  apparent  in  the  face  of  the  girl  who  was 
gazing  out  upon  the  dried  floor  of  Meadow  Flat. 
For  to  the  untrained  eye  the  wide  landscape  was 
full  of  a  rousing  suggestiveness. 

The  girl  rode  a  silvery  grey,  with  more  than  a 
hint  about  him  of  that  matchless  alloy  of  spirit 
and  gentleness  that  is  the  heirloom  of  the  Arab 
horse.  And  she  did  not  look  unworthy  of  her 
horse,  so  far  as  grace  and  promise  of  unassuming 

183 


DINKINBAR 

pluck  were  concerned.  She  was  narrow-hipped 
and  of  a  mettlesome  slimness,  and  bore  herself  in 
the  saddle  as  in  a  place  that  was  hers  by  long 
inheritance ;  her  clothing  sat  upon  her  as  closely 
and  as  freely  as  the  feathers  on  a  bird,  obscuring 
the  lines  of  her  body  only  to  accentuate  them. 
She  shaded  her  steady,  narrow  eyes  with  a 
gauntleted  hand,  and  looked  with  a  long-chinned, 
perfectly  composed,  and  yet  supremely  discon- 
tented face  to  right  and  left. 

On  the  right  Aplin  and  Finlay,  still  far  off, 
were  coming  from  the  paddock,  in  Indian  hie,  bur- 
dened with  tools  and  shambling  heavily.  As  they 
saw  the  horsewoman,  they  drew  into  line,  squared 
themselves  briskly,  and   quickened  their  pace. 

"  Idiots,"  the  girl  said  gently  ;  "  frauds,  staging 
themselves  directly  they  see  me.  What  are  they 
playing  now — the  Budding  Squatter  ?  No,  the 
Gentleman  Navvy,  strong  and  guileless.  Yet 
they  know  I  saw  them  last  Sunday,  bawling  and 
sprawling  over  the  bar  at  the  *  Three  Bushes ' — 
at  least,  Aplin  bawled." 

They  were  both  waving  their  hats,  but  she 
turned  away  without  a  sign. 

Far  to  the  left,  Creswell,  with  his  horse  gallop- 
ing and  girth-deep  in  golden-coloured  dust,  was 
flogging  viciously  at  the  tail  of  a 'flying  herd  of 
several  hundred  cattle  that  streamed  southward 

184 


COLONIAL    EXPERIENCE 

across  the  bare,  timber-girt  expanse  of  Meadow 
Flat,  the  cream  of  Snelling's  run  in  the  time  of 
plenty,  the  Lost  Province  and  the  Promised  Land 
of  Dinkinbar.  Beyond  Creswell  the  black  Moltke 
was  flogging  too,  and  his  delighted  hootings 
reached  the  girl's  ears.  A  swirling  and  bellow- 
ing amongst  the  loitering,  jaded  cattle  on  the 
further  flank  showed  where  the  dog  was  quietly 
at  work.  The  white  man,  silent,  stern,  relentless, 
might  have  been  a  cavalryman  sabreing  routed 
infantry,  and  sending  home  death  with  every  fall 
of  his  right  arm. 

"  That's  better,"  the  girl  said  unmovingly.  "  Let 
the  fight  go  to  the  strongest,  for  once  in  a  way." 

Creswell  desisted  when  the  flying  cattle  were 
far  out  across  the  plain,  and  turned  homeward. 
The  girl,  without  waiting  for  the  footmen,  rode 
out  to  meet  him.  His  face  was  hard  set  and 
streaked  with  dry  dust. 

"  I  never  saw  the  grey  look  better,  Miss  Stor- 
month,"  he  said,  as  he  saluted. 

"Thank  you,"  she  returned  calmly.  "Send  away 
the  nigger,  will  you  ?     I've  a  message  for  you." 

"  Moltke,  scoot.  And  bid  the  cook  be  wary 
with  the  ortolans  and  the  damper.  A  lady's 
coming  to  sup " 

"  No,  not  while  Finlay's — er — so " 

"  I  forgot  the  savoury.     But  we  could  feed  in 

the  open  air,  you  know." 

185 


DINKINBAR 

"  There's  not  room  for  his  atmosphere  even 
there.  No,  you're  going  to  ride  with  me  a  mile 
or  so.     Come  along." 

Moltke  went  away  for  the  hut  at  a  headlong 
gallop,  standing  up  in  his  stirrups. 

"  You're  very  dirty,"  she  said,  looking  Creswell 
over  critically ;  "  but  it  becomes  you.  There's 
something  very  like  the  light  of  battle  about  you 
somewhere." 

"  It  is  rather  like  fighting,  I  imagine,"  he  an- 
swered, looking  out  towards  the  retreating  cloud 
of  dust  and  the  spent  and  jogging  cattle ;  "  it 
helps  to  keep  off  the  blues.  But  I'm  only  a  mer- 
cenary, fighting  other  men's  wars,  you  see ;  I  get 
none  of  the  laurels." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"Eh?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  You're  ruining  my  poor  brother- 
in-law's  last  chances  in  this  world  and  the  next." 

"  Duty,  you  know.  And  '  this  indenture  wit- 
nesseth'  that  I'm  going  to  give  Mr.  Joseph  Hey- 
rick  full  measure  of  dirty  work  till  I've  done  my 
time.     And  then " 

"Hey  for  England,  I  suppose?"  she  said 
sweetly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  slowly,  looking 
at  her  with  a  shrewd  sparkle  of  admiration. 
"  England's  beginning  to  seem  small  ;  one  might 
fall  off  into  the  water  over  there." 

1 86 


COLONIAL    EXPERIENCE 

She  answered  carefully,  as  she  daintily  settled 
one  of  her  gauntlets,  "  It  is,  it  is.  Then  you  like 
Mr.  Heyrick  very  much  ?  " 

"  Immensely,"  he  said  savagely,  and  then 
seemed  to  toss  his  ill-humour  aside.  "  There,  it's 
a  lesson.  He's  had  me.  I've  got  to  bite  on  the 
bullet." 

"  But  you  signed  with  your  eyes  open,"  she 
said  innocently. 

"  Maybe.  Then  I've  lost  the  rose-coloured 
spectacles  since.  Oh,"  with  desperate  calmness, 
"  it's  all  fair.  But  I  wish  I  had  been  buttoned 
up  in  a  tunic  instead." 

"  Fie  !  look  ahead.  All  fair,  though  it's  neither 
love  nor  war  ?  " 

"  What  is  your  message  ?  " 

"  In  a  moment.  So  this  big  country's  bitten 
you  too  ?  "  She  was  making  a  careful  examina- 
tion of  her  cutting  whip. 

He  shook  his  fist  at  the  steel-hard  sky.  "  Of 
course,  size  and  scope  and  lots  of  room,  and  all 
the  roads  open  to  everybody  that  will  roll  up  his 
sleeves  and  isn't  afraid.  And  look  at  it " — he 
pointed  out  disgustedly  across  the  ungrassed, 
sun-baked  plain — "  isn't  it  the  mockery  of  am- 
bition ?  Shows  a  man  something  worth  playing 
for,  and  then  shrivels  it  up,  and  leaves  him  with 
his  hands  tied  behind  him." 

187 


DINKINBAR 

"  It  may  be  all  knee-deep  in  grass  this  day 
fortnight." 

"  Yes,  somebody  else's  grass,"  he  answered 
glumly.  Then  he  looked  across  at  her,  and 
braced  himself  up  as  he  looked.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Miss  Stormonth." 

'  For  letting  me  know  that  your  ankle-bones 
are  sore,  not  being  used  to  chains  ?  Don't  apolo- 
gise," she  said.  Then  she  pulled  up,  and  made 
the  fine  whip  chirp  as  she  flicked  it  in  the  air. 
The  grey  reefed  and  sidled  ;  she  sat  him  superbly. 
"Now  you  must  turn,"  she  said  at  last.  "We 
must  not  be  seen  together.  No,  it  isn't  propriety 
— that's  above  me.  It's  business ;  and  I'm  not 
above  that." 

"  Horse-dealing  ?  "  he  inquired  ;  "  bush-rang- 
ing?"    _ 

"  No."  She  was  carefully  studying  the  wThip 
again.  "  Stock  and  station,  and — possibly — other 
agencies.  This  " — she  waved  the  whip  suddenly 
towards  the  coveted  plain,  then  curved  it  again 
beneath  her  eyes — "  all  this  will,  as  you  say,  soon 
be  somebody  else's,  and  not  Frank's." 

The  last  words  were  almost  inaudible.  She 
had  the  fine,  steady  voice  of  the  woman  of  perfect 
health  who  is  the  implacable  foe  of  all  overt 
display  of  nerves.  But  in  the  "  possibly,"  and  in 
the  closing  diminuendo,  there  was  a  waver,  not  of 

188 


COLONIAL    EXPERIENCE 

weakness,  but  like  the  wind-borne  note  of  a  clear 
bell,  that  made  Creswell  drive  his  horse  up  close 
to  hers.  "  Not  Snelling's  ?  "  he  asked  in  sudden 
interest. 

She  shook  her  head,  and  still  bent  to  examine 
the  whip.      "  You  don't  know  the  plot,  then  ?  " 

"  The  plot !  " 

She  nodded.  "  I  love  my  brother-in-law — im- 
mensely " — she  tried  to  infuse  a  masculine  rough- 
ness into  the  word,  but  the  effort  ended  in  a 
delicious  throatiness — "and  my  sister  as — as  only 
women,  especially  sisters,  really  know  how  to 
adore." 

"  I  believe  they  can  hate.     Well  ?  " 

"  I've  heard  so.  Look  !  "  she  raised  her  head, 
closed  two  wonderful  rows  of  teeth  on  the  whip, 
and  shook  her  head  wickedly.  "  Well,  Frank's 
been  hanging-  on  the  selvedge  of  ruin  these  five 
years.  He's  a  gambler.  All  the  Rainscourts 
are.     And  all  the  Stormonths  are  fools." 

She  prolonged  the  word  in  a  delicate  upward 
inflection  of  inquiry.  Creswell  cleared  his  throat 
formally. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  and  laughed  in  the 
manner  of  women  whose  affections  do  not  go  out 
unguided  by  a  sense  of  expediency  ;  "  all  but  one. 
That  was  neat  of  you.  Well,  here  it  is.  Half 
my  dow — my  patrimony's  gone  into  the  bottom- 

189 


DINKINBAR 

less  pit  of  Frank's  affairs.  Now  they're  besieging 
me  for  the  other  half,  to  throw  after  the  first." 

"  Well,  well  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  only  means,  at  the  best,  giving 
Frank  a  little  longer  time  to  spell  R-u-i-n.  I 
might  run  away.  Somehow — England  is  damp, 
and  small,  as  you  say — I  prefer  to  fight."  She 
made  the  whip  sing  in  the  air  again. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  filling  and  squaring  his  chest. 

"  These  Bush  houses  make  eavesdropping 
compulsory.  I  heard  it  in  the  small  hours  this 
morning.  Frank  had  been  to  Bingo  to  see 
Morrison,  head  of  the  Bank  of  Ethiopia.  Morri- 
son must  have  his  pound  of  flesh.  Frank  hasn't 
an  ounce  to  give ;  but  he  said — I  heard  him — 
that  my  little  pile  would  be  a  small  steak  to  go 
on  with.     Clever,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  Very,  and  most  brotherly." 

"  Brother-in-lawly.  They've  nearly  killed  me 
vith  kindness  to-day,  and  I'm  grateful  accord- 
ingly. And  now  Frank  has  a  fortnight  to  pay 
what  Morrison  asks,  or "     She  paused. 

"  Or  what  ? '  he  asked  fiercely,  and  came 
closer  to  her. 

She  spoke  very  quietly,  looking  above  his  head. 
"  Or  see  the  roof  sold  above  him,  and  the  run 
go  from  him  and  his  heirs  for  ever  at  a  fourth  of 
its   value,  for  what  he's    borrowed    on    it.     And 

190 


COLONIAL    EXPERIENCE 

there's  the  drought,  and  he  has  no  cattle  to  sell ; 
and  there's  you,  my  warlike  friend  " — she  suddenly 
pointed  the  whip  at  his  chest,  looking  at  him  keenly 
above  it — "  hunting  his  cattle  back  to  starvation." 

"  But  who'll  buy  the "  he  said  dazedly,  and 

stopped. 

She  fell  to  examining  her  whip  again,  more 
closely  this  time,  for  the  dusk  was  drawing  in. 
"  Why,"  she  said  demurely,  "  Mr.  Joseph  Heyrick, 
of  course,  unless — er — somebody  else.  It's  an 
old  grudge  of  Mr.  Heyrick's  against  Frank  that 
he  got  Meadow  Flat  by  a  trick.  Morrison  expects 
the  offer  from  Dinkinbar  any  day,  and  he'll  take 
it,  unless  the  money  is  paid  within  two  weeks. 
Three  days  are  gone  already.  You're  a  pawn, 
Mr.  Creswell,  in  the  game,  or  a  knight,  rather — a 
knight  of  the  pigskin — laid  on  to  harass  my  poor 
brother-in-law  in  his  extremity." 

He  gave  his  horse's  ribs  a  sounding  thump 
with  his  open  hand,  and  then  sat  high  in  his 
saddle,  looking  down  at  her  bent  head.  He 
seemed  like  a  man  re-moulded,  or  as  one  turned 
from  clay  to  steel,  since  his  meeting  with  her 
half  an  hour  a^o.  A  hand  that  he  had  raised 
towards  her  was  diverted  on  its  way,  and  went  to 
stroke  his  young  beard  gently.  He  was  five-and- 
twenty,  and  filled  with  the  sublime  restlessness 
of  his  world-striding  race  ;    and  the  woman  had 

191 


DINKINBAR 

come  to  make  order  and  plain  day  of  the  black- 
ness he  had  seen  a  moment  ago  in  his  future. 

Nevertheless,  he  merely  said,  with  the  ela- 
borate carelessness  that  overlies  the  business 
manner  of  the  born  maker  of  bargains,  "  What  is 
the  weight  of  this  pound  of  flesh,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Five  thousand,"  she  said,  in  as  matter-of-fact 
a  voice  as  his  own. 

"  Oh  !  I  have  but  three  in  this  world,  or  else 
I  shouldn't  have  minded.      However " 

"  I,"  she  said  very  calmly,  "  have  still  two." 

They  looked  long  at  one  another  in  the  deepen- 
ing twilight.  "  A  man,"  he  said  carefully,  "  in 
this  country,  with  a  head,  and  hands,  and  some 

one  to "     Something  in  her  manner  checked 

him.  "  I  could  give  you  a  hold  on  the  station 
for  security." 

She  gave  a  toss,  and  made  a  small  sound  of  anger. 

"  Plain  business  then,"  he  said  downrightly. 
"  Can  you  meet  me  in  Bingo  to-morrow  after- 
noon ?  "     She  nodded  quickly  several  times. 

"  Hands  on  it,  then."  He  held  out  one  of  his. 
She  hesitated,  and  finally  laid  the  point  of  her 
whip  in  his  palm.  He  clutched  it,  and  began  to 
draw  it  gently  to  him.  For  the  first  time  she 
seemed  to  melt  a  little,  and  gave  weakly  towards 
him  ;  but  the  next  instant  she  plucked  the  whip 
free  and  spurred  the  grey  several  yards  from  him. 

192 


COLONIAL    EXPERIENCE 

"  Go  back  to  your  supper,"  she  called.  "  If  you 
move  a  step  I'll — I'll  throw  myself  into  the  arms 
of  the  enemy.     It's  till  to-morrow  only." 

"  What  about  your  message  ?  "  he  shouted  after 
her. 

She  sane  over  her  shoulder,  full  and  clear,  a 
musical  phrase  without  words,  except  on  the  last 
three  notes,  which  she  drew  out  melodiously  on 
the  syllables  "  A  St-a-a-tion."  Then  she  cantered 
away,  laughing  joyfully. 

Creswell  stretched  both  arms  high  above  his 
head  and  watched  the  stars  mustering  in  the  sky 
until  long  after  the  sound  of  the  grey's  hoofs  had 
died  away.  Then  he  turned  back,  whistling  the 
snatch  of  music  intently  over  and  over  again,  as 
if  searching  for  the  right  words,  which  had  been 
parted  from  the  notes  in  the  lumber-room  of  his 
recollections. 

When  he  reached  the  camp,  it  appeared  that 
his  search  had  been  successful,  for  he  was  singing 
at  the  full  pitch  of  lungs  and  voice  : — ■ 


^"N 


^^nH^^^^^^ 


Faint     heart     ne   -   ver  won       fair    Lay   -   day. 

"  No,  it's  only  dam  cheek  like  yours  that  wins," 
a  muffled  voice  retorted.  It  was  Aplin's,  and  he 
was  lying  face  down  upon  the  bare  earth  before 

193  o 


DINKINBAR 

the  hut,  with  his  forehead  resting  on  folded  arms. 
F inlay  sat  on  the  ground  hugging  his  shins,  a 
rumpled,  unsavoury  figure. 

Aplin,  without  raising  his  head,  wandered  off 
into  a  wild  discourse  ;  he  almost  sobbed  with  rage 
at  Finlay's  unguarded  manner  of  sucking  a  hollow 
tooth  ;  he  laughed  in  a  tragic  way  as  he  stumbled 
on  the  recollection  of  Sunday's  carouse  at  the 
"  Three  Bushes."  When  Finlay  cut  in  vacantly, 
saying  that  a  cake  sent  out  from  the  homestead 
had  been  wrapped  in  a  sheet  of  the  Standard 
containing  a  list  of  all  the  London  theatres  and 
their  plays,  Aplin  groaned,  "  O  God !  " 

Creswell,  as  he  went  to  hunt  within  the  hut  for 
supper,  flipped  the  prostrate  Aplin  with  a  strap. 
Aplin  scrambled  to  his  feet  with  a  growl,  and 
drew  back  a  doubled  fist. 

"  There,"  Creswell  said,  facing  the  other,  but 
not  lifting  a  finger;  "I'm  sorry,  old  chap.  Fact 
is,  we've  all  a  touch  of  the  dry-rot.  Want  shak- 
ing up." 

Aplin  laughed  hysterically  and  turned  away. 
"  I  must  rush  and  have  a  wash  and  a  change," 
Finlay  said  briskly,  and  hurried  off  with  towel 
and  soap.  But  when  he  reached  the  creek  side, 
he  sat  down  aimlessly  and  flicked  his  towel  at  the 
black  water.  "  What's  the  use  ? '  'he  said.  "  It 
looks  so  beastly  cold "  ;  and  he  returned  to  the 
hut  unclean. 

194 


CHAPTER  XII 
Where   Races  Meet 

ON  the  northern  confines  of  Dinkinbar,  also, 
woman  and  the  weather  were  joining  their 
wayward,  incomputable  strength  to  defeat  the 
squatter's  simple  ends. 

Sydney  Hulbert  had  been  a  ''difficult"  child 
and  an  "  impossible "  young  man,  according  to 
those  who  had  been  most  fully  empowered  to 
misgovern  him — his  parents.  He  had  expended 
the  strength  of  his  infancy  on  the  little  wasting 
wars  called  fits  of  temper  ;  his  schooldays  had 
been  passed  in  self-upbraidings  for  lessons  un- 
learned, the  brief  exaltation  that  goes  with  fitful, 
empty  enthusiasm  and  spasms  of  heady  bravery, 
and  the  unspeakable  protracted  misery  that  fol- 
lows after  it.  By  three-and-twenty  he  was  still 
uncentred,  vaguely  bent  upon  Art  and  the  despair 
of  a  commercial  father  and  a  mother  of  suburban 
mind,  when  chance  swept  him  into  the  net  of 
Mr.  Joseph  Heyrick,  and  to  the  antipodes,  to 
the  intense  joy  of  himself  and,  after  the  parting 
wrench,  to  the  relief  of  his  parents. 

195 


DINKINBAR 

On  the  station,  after  his  over-anxiety  to  learn 
new  things  had  ceased  to  confound  him,  he  de- 
veloped a  curious  serenity  under  the  eyes  of 
others,  and  that  mute  tactfulness  amongst  animals 
that  marks  the  born  stockrider,  which  delighted 
Mr.  Heyrick,  and  caused  Hulbert  to  be  pro- 
moted to  the  charge  of  the  northern  out-station. 
He  was  earnestly  warned  against  "  worrying," 
exhorted  to  come  to  the  homestead  every  Sun- 
day, or  oftener  if  he  chose,  and  to  cultivate  the 
acquaintance  of  the  telegraph  man  at  the  re- 
peating station.  Ned  Baxter,  the  stockman,  put 
him  in  the  way  of  filling  his  new  office. 

After  three  weeks  he  had  been  twice  to  the 
head  station,  and  on  each  occasion  he  had  been  in 
wild  spirits.  He  rode  after  his  second  visit  up 
the  little  valley  that  led  to  the  out-station  as  the 
sun  sank  behind  the  trees.  The  runnel  of  clear 
water  still  hurried  down  between  its  edges,  like 
liquid  gold  in  the  colour  of  the  sunset,  and  gave 
a  point  and  finish  to  the  picture  of  dearth  that 
layabout  it.  It  made  a  fine  mockery  of  pouring 
out  boundless  wealth  in  a  land  where  there  was 
no  food  to  buy.  The  plain  was  bare  and  black, 
except  for  filmy,  sickly  patches  of  dead  grass  that 
the  cattle  had  gnawed  to  the  roots,  and  the 
ground  had  opened  into  rifts  wide  enough  to  take 
a  horse's  hoof.     The  ridges  were  tufted  here  and 

196 


WHERE    RACES    MEET 

there  with  hard  wisps  of  stubble,  as  eatable  and 
nourishing  as  so  many  bunches  of  copper  wire. 
A  draggled  procession  of  cattle,  all  lank  and 
weary-footed,  was  filing  into  water,  but  showing 
no  heart  when  they  reached  it  to  drink  full- 
throatedly.  They  dipped  their  muzzles  forlornly, 
and  bellowed  to  one  another  between-whiles  in 
starved  notes,  each  note  a  song  of  famine. 

For  a  fortnight  Hulbert's  work  had  consisted 
in  dragging  out,  by  means  of  a  draught-horse 
and  chains,  weak  cattle  where  they  had  foun- 
dered in  the  boggy  edges  of  the  creeks.  It  was 
labour  as  cheerful  as  hauling  drowned  bodies 
from  the  sea,  with  the  risk,  in  the  young  stock- 
man's case,  of  subsequent  horning  and  trampling 
superadded  ;  for  in  the  rescue  of  the  cattle  the 
extremes  of  brute  perversity  were  revealed. 
The  beasts,  when  their  feet  were  fettered  by  the 
black  mud,  appealed  to  him  for  help  in  their 
extremity  with  shuddering  flanks  and  pitiful 
moanings,  and  unfathomable  yearning  in  their 
eyes,  that  made  him  sob  ;  but,  once  he  had  put 
the  chain  about  their  horns  and  hauled  them 
out,  some  curious  mixture  of  fear,  distress,  and 
thanklessness  overcame  them,  and  they  devoted 
the  first  moments  of  their  restored  liberty  to 
charging  him.  Generally  weakness  rendered 
these  attacks  harmless ;  but  often  it  needed  more 

197 


DINKINBAR 

than  a  little  of  the  courage  and  quickness  of  the 
bull- fighter  to  keep  hold  and  pull  on  the  thong 
attached  to  the  chain  so  as  to  free  it  from  the 
beast's  horns.  This  rescue-work  is  the  kind  of 
station  business  that,  undertaken  by  two  or  more, 
falls  under  the  head  of  novelty  and  is  conducted 
in  a  spirit  of  emulative  horse-play  ;  but,  carried  on 
alone  by  such  a  one  as  Hulbert,  susceptible  as  he 
was  to  that  strictured,  dumb  uneasiness  that  goes 
abroad  in  drought-time,  it  was  the  sorest  aggra- 
vation of  his  solitude.  And  solitude  is  a  corro- 
ding poison  to  such  as  he.  But  the  fears  of  the 
women  at  the  station  for  him  in  his  loneliness  were 
disarmed,  if  not  allayed,  by  his  hilarity  when  he 
came  in  on  Sunday.  Mr.  Heyrick  pointed  to  him, 
brown,  lean,  and  wiry,  as  the  living  fulfilment  of 
his  prophecy.      Hulbert  was  being  made  a  man. 

All  the  way  out  from  the  homestead  the  horse, 
listless  and  weak  from  under- feeding,  had  bored 
incessantly  to  the  off- side  most  maddeningly.  By 
the  time  he  reached  the  solitary  out-station, 
Hulbert  was  in  a  white  heat  of  irritation,  and 
as  vaguely  woful  as  he  had  been  insanely  high- 
spirited  at  the  homestead. 

"  Most  merciful  Providence,"  he  said  bitterly, 
as  he  looked  along  the  desolation  of  the  flat, 
"no  cattle  bogged  to-day."  All  the  beasts  stood 
round  drearily   and   perfectly  still,   and   watched 

198 


WHERE    RACES    MEET 

him  like  so  many  retainers  defrauded  by  him 
of  their  just  rights.  He  pulled  up  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd  of  them,  and  looked  from  one  to 
another.  Then  he  dropped  the  reins  on  the 
horse's  neck  and  looked  up,  holding  his  clenched 
hands  towards  the  sky  and  shaking  them  with 
every  sentence  as   he  spoke. 

"  What  is  it  to  me  ?  It's  not  my  land — not 
my  cattle.  I  might  go  in  to-morrow  and  tell 
them  this  is  driving  me  mad.  I  can't  ;  I  go 
and  play  the  fool  instead.  Something's  wither- 
ing up  the  heart  in  me.  It's  this  awful  land, 
where  the  rivers  die  out  in  deserts  and  never 
reach  the  sea.  It's  the  drought.  O  God,  O 
God,  send  rain  upon  the  earth.  There's  mist 
and  the  smell  of  autumn  in  England  now.  And 
music.  And  London's  roaring.  Christ,  be  merci- 
ful." 

He  looked  round  him  ;  the  cattle  were  staring 
foolishly.  The  horse  bored  off  heavily  and 
stupidly  in  the  wrong  direction.  Hulbert  raised 
a  switch  in  his  hand  and  struck  viciously  at  its 
head;  the  poor  brute  swerved  blindly;  Hulbert 
jumped  down,  put  his  arms  round  its  neck,  and 
groaned.  One  of  its  eyes  was  closed  where  he 
had  struck,  and  a  tear  rolled  down  from  it. 
He  led  it  to  the  hut,  unsaddled  it  gently,  and 
rubbed  its  ears  tenderly  before  he  turned  it  loose. 

199 


DINKINBAR 

He  bolted  his  hard,  hot  supper  ravenously,  but 
without  appetite,  and  smoked  furiously  for  a 
little  while  as  he  sat  upon  a  bench  outside  the 
door  of  the  hut.  But  the  dead,  vast  silence  drove 
him  within,  and  he  fastened  up  door  and  window- 
shutter  feverishly,  like  one  expecting  an  attack. 
He  lighted  the  broad  wick — a  strip  of  moleskin 
trouser-leg — of  the  fat-lamp ;  tried  to  read  a 
weeks-old,  limp  rag  of  newspaper,  and  flung  it 
away  ;  tried  whip-plaiting,  and  found  himself  star- 
ing into  the  smoky  flame  while  the  sweat  of  a 
nameless  fear  ran  upon  his  forehead.  The  face- 
less imps  of  solitude  had  charge  of  him  ;  he  was 
unmanned. 

A  naked  hand  was  swept  over  the  sheet  of 
bark  that  did  duty  for  a  door.  The  sudden, 
definite  call  of  danger  braced  the  man  inside  as 
a  tang  of  sea-breeze  striking  through  murky,  fog- 
blinded  city  air  might  quicken  the  blood ;  he 
blew  out  the  light,  and  crouched  silently  within 
reach  of  the  door. 

To  his  eyes  it  was  pitchy  dark  within  the  hut, 
and  silent  everywhere  but  for  the  sound  of  his 
own  racing  heart.  His  revolver  was  at  the 
homestead,  snug  in  its  immaculate  holster,  buried 
beneath  the  weight  of  his  "  colonial  outfit  "  of 
things  that  were  starkly  useless  once  they  had 
crossed  the  London  shop-counter.     His  hanker- 

200 


WHERE    RACES    MEET 

ing  after  deeds  of  arms,  to  be  done  against  yell- 
ing, cattle-raiding,  uncouthly-weaponed  savages, 
had  been  ruthlessly  trodden  out  under  the  iron 
heel  of  Mr.  Heyrick's  deadly  downrightness  ;  one 
straight  shot,  fired  fifteen  years  ago,  had  quit  the 
station  of  nio-g-er-huntinor  for  evermore.  Never- 
theless,  a  human  hand,  and  assuredly  no  white 
man's  hand,  had  come  suddenly,  out  of  nowhere 
and  the  night,  to  fumble  at  the  latch.  That 
brushing  of  the  door  spoke  danger  to  the  man 
inside ;  and  the  alarm,  being  real,  and  wrought  by 
a  thing  of  bones  and  blood,  even  though  there 
might  be  death  behind  it,  was  unspeakably  wel- 
come after  the  dread  of  unhuman  things  that  had 
gone  before. 

Hulbert  stooped  so  long  that  his  knees  began 
to  ache,  and  his  heart  settled  to  a  strong  and 
steady  beat,  and  still  the  silence  was  unbroken. 
He  had  seen  some  ragged  leavings,  bones  and 
rotting  scraps  of  clothing  and  collapsed  hutches 
made  of  boughs,  down  by  the  creek,  where  blacks 
had  recently  been  camping ;  but  about  the  station 
he  had  noticed  a  curious  reticence  concerning 
them.  And  the  telegraph  operator — for  whom 
Hulbert  had  conceived  a  deadly  loathing,  chiefly 
on  account  of  his  manner  of  exploring  his  wisdom 
teeth  with  a  forefinger — had  said  that  all  non- 
working  blacks  had  been  warned  to  set  foot  upon 

201 


DINKINBAR 

Dinkinbar  no  more,  and  had  appended  vulgar 
hints  as  to  the  reason  which  had  intensified 
Hulbert's  detestation   of  him. 

"What  name  you,  stop  insi'?"  It  was  the 
voice  of  a  girl  at  the  door.  Hulbert  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  smiled  radiantly  to  himself  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

An  open  palm  and  outspread  fingers  began  to 
beat  lightly  and  irregularly  on  the  door,  and  the 
little  voice  broke  from  beseeching  into  sobs. 
Hulbert  merely  stayed  to  look  about  him  in  the 
black  darkness  like  a  man  wakened  suddenly 
in  a  strange  place,  then  softly  undid  the  door. 
It  was  no  sooner  opened  than  two  arms  were 
round  his  shoulders,  and  a  girl's  face  was 
snuggling  against  his  neck.  She  was  black, 
but  warm  and  body-sweet,  and  utterly  human. 

For  some  moments  she  sobbed  and  laughed 
with  her  face  hidden  ;  then  she  knit  her  hands 
behind  the  man's  neck  and  looked  up  at  him 
rapturously.  But  when  she  saw  his  face,  she 
pushed  him  from  her,  so  that  he  staggered  into 
the  hut,  and  she  herself  ran  backward,  crying  out 
like  a  wounded  thine-  He  reeled  forward,  and 
made  to  follow  blindly  after  her,  but  as  he  passed 
the  doorway  he  put  out  a  hand  and  gripped  the 
post  so  firmly  that  the  whole  slender  framework 
of  the  hut  shook  as  he  was  checked.     He  turned 

202 


WHERE    RACES    MEET 

back  angrily,  as  if  to  cast  off  a  restraining  hand 
upon  him,  and  wheeled  to  run  out  again.  The 
girl  was  gone.  "  Come,"  he  said,  as  if  to  the 
hindering  cause,  "  maybe  you're  right"  ;  and  he 
caught  firm  hold  of  the  door-post  again.  But 
he  called  up  the  dark  ridge,  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Noorna.     Where  Nedie  ?  " 

"  Come  here." 

"No.     Where  Nedie?" 

He  ran  out,  and  called  again ;  there  was  a 
small  sound  of  falling  earth,  and  the  voice 
answered,  from  a  greater  distance  than  before. 
He  followed  it,   and  again   it  moved  away. 

It  was  in  the  dread  waste  and  deepest  darkness 
of  the  early  hours  that  Hulbert  returned  to  the 
hut  and  leaned  himself,  dead-beaten  with  fatigue, 
in  the  doorway.  The  heavens  were  throbbing 
and  ablaze  with  a  numberless  profusion  of  stars, 
that  yet  shone  with  a  lifeless  fervour  infinitely 
remote,  as  though  their  light  had  been  withdrawn 
from  the  world  to  make  way  for  the  advent  of  the 
living  dawn. 

The  young  man  turned  inside  and  absently  dug 
amongst  the  ashes  in  the  fireplace  for  glowing 
embers  ;  he  laid  twigs  on  the  red  coals,  and  fanned 
them  to  a  blaze  with  his  hat.  He  blinked  and 
yawned  as  the  light  flared,  then  subsided  to  the 

203 


DINKINBAR 

earthen  floor  and  sat  with  a  foot  on  either  side  of 
the  ashes,  and  sunk  his  chin  between  his  hollowed 
hands. 

"  I'm  grown  old  this  night,"  he  soliloquised. 
"  Should  hardly  have  wondered,  I've  been  away 
so  long  and  so  far,  if  I'd  found  a  hotel  here  when 
I  came  back,  all  ablaze  with  electric  ligfht,  and  a 
station  on  the  Trans-Continental  Railway  to  Cape 
York,  and  Albert  Edward  King,  and  Parliament 
moved  to  Exeter  Hall.  Ha !  I've  been  lono-  in 
the  wilderness. — If  I  had  the  words  !  But  wis- 
dom's dumb  ;  and  books  to  the  libraries  are  dust 
unto  dust.  All  the  shades  of  life  are  mixed  from 
precious  few  primary  colours.  Red,  yellow,  blue. 
Sleep,  sex,  sweat.  Should  I  have  run  out  ?  It 
was  madness  either  way,  and  folly  both.  It  was 
a  case  of  tug-o'-war  between  flesh  and  spirit,  and  I 
stood  by  to  see.  Who  won  ?  Bothered  if  I  know. 
Think  the  rope  broke.  What  did  I  tell  her  when 
I  started  out  on  that  wild  hunt  ?  Don't  know.  I 
do  know  the  Ritt  der  Walkiiren  was  a  tame  affair 
beside  it.  Where  has  she  gone — to  the  station  ?  " 
He  looked  up  with  a  touch  of  his  old  restless- 
ness, but  subsided  into  good-humoured  lethargy 
a^ain. 

"  Can't  say."  His  eyelids  were  lifting  and 
lowering  sleepily.  "  The  God  that  guides  battles 
and   sees  the  sparrow's  fall — no  doubt  has — eye 

204 


WHERE    RACES    MEET 

upon  us.      Certain  IV  -  3 — 

'phy.      Been  heart — 'v — thi  lgs.      C. 

He  dragged  I  his  feet  :  :v 

lurch  ovei  :d  pa 

to  the  door.     A  stain  ness    -  n   that 

the  fai.  ft   ;:"  star-ir. 

clear    beside    it,   was    si  g   in  the   east, 

invisible  \  id — earl: 

- 

birds  in  the   Bash —  shrill 

"  Tweedle-  ■ .        " 

"  The  day  is  at  h  Hulbert  said  as  h 

to  his  bunk.      "  And  the  commc  . :-.      Wonder 

is  my  hair  white  ?  " 

It  was   on  the   day  that  Susie  Thynne's  long 

letter  had  b  :ommitted  to  the   m 

she  stood  to  watch  the  -  .-  hack 

and   his  1  k-hors  shambling 

She  v.-  n  till  her  e;     -     . 

man  and  horses  d\v: 

plain  ;  they  - 

as  s 

As  the  his  b 

a  belt  -   all  three 

entlv  a  last   weir 

and   be  abs 
ced  air.  a  sudden  passion  of  1 
a  vague  --  s  girl's 

205 


DINKINBAR 

reached  forth  her  hands  and  almost  cried  out  to 
the  disappearing  horseman.  The  unpitying  sky 
and  the  exhausted  earth  were  eloquent  of  desola- 
tion, and  seemed,  now  that  her  letter  was  o-one — 
without  any  word  of  them — to  be  full  of  grim  fore- 
bodings. The  girl  was  suffering  in  a  fit  of  that 
unrest  that  is  apt  to  follow  in  the  mercurially- 
minded  after  the  cheery  but  unsatisfying  abandon- 
ment to  a  heady  discursiveness  ;  and  in  the  relapse 
the  utter  sterility  of  the  scene  before  her  gibed  at 
all  hopefulness  and  gaiety,  till  her  departed  letter 
took  the  colour  of  elaborate  self-libelling  and  a 
childish  distortion  of  the  truth. 

A  limping  creature  was  skirting  the  creek-side 
beyond  the  stockyard,  and  the  girl  watched  it 
from  the  verandah,  first  in  fear,  then  in  pitying 
curiosity.  It  was  the  only  moving  thing  visible, 
and  its  wounded,  weary  progress  amongst  the 
she-oaks  was  rendered  doubly  arresting  to  her  by 
reason  of  the  distorting  sun-haze.  There  was  a 
tragic  liveliness  imparted  to  the  creature's  limbs 
that  was  cruelly  discordant,  as  though  a  funeral 
procession  passing  in  the  street  should,  being  seen 
through  faulty  window-glass,  seem  to  cut  boneless, 
impossible  capers,  and  indulge  in  weird,  inhuman 
pantomine. 

The  little  weary  figure  leaned  itself  up  at  last 
against  a  tree  and  looked  towards  the  house.     It 

206 


WHERE    RACES    MEET 

was  a  black  girl,  and  plainly  she  was  spent  with 
fatigue.  But  when  she  caught  sight  of  the  figure 
on  the  verandah,  she  suddenly  turned  and  dodged 
like  a  tired  sharpshooter  from  tree  to  tree,  and 
disappeared  below  the  bank  of  the  creek. 

The  creature  might  need  help,  or  it  might  be 
that  she  had  been  set  to  spy  out  the  nakedness  of 
the  homestead  against  a  night  attack  by  savages. 
In  any  case,  the  episode  tasted  of  adventure,  and 
came  as  a  timely  intrusion  into  Susie's  fit  of 
despondency.  She  seized  her  hat  and  ran  full 
speed,  and  tingling  with  agreeable  suspense,  for 
the  point  where  the  black  girl  had  disappeared. 

Mrs.  Heyrick,  having  done  all  the  work  that 
her  hands  could  find  to  do,  was  seeking  comfort 
in  the  Scriptures  against  the  uneasiness  that  was 
abroad.  Hearing  a  well-known  footstep,  she 
looked  up  with  the  smile  she  had  always  ready 
for  Susie  Thynne,  but  it  died  out  when  she  saw 
the  girl,  who  had  come  to  stand  in  the  doorway, 
where  she  swune  herself  back  and  forwards  on 
her  outstretched  hands,  looking  hard  above  her 
aunt's  head. 

"  My  child,  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Nothing  ;  oh,  nothing." 

Mrs.  Heyrick  held  out  two  shaking  hands ;  the 
Bible  fell  from  her  knee   with  a  thud.      "  Come 

207 


DINKINBAR 
here,    quick,    child,    here   to   my   arms,    and   tell 


me." 


"  I  will  not  come  to  you.  I  can  tell  you 
nothing  you  don't  know  already.  If  you  had  told 
me.  But  I  have  had  my  '  colonial  experience ' 
now."  She  laughed  loudly.  "  My  education's 
finished.      I  may  go." 

She  turned  away,  and  before  the  elder  woman 
could  overtake  her  she  had  bolted  herself  in  her 
bedroom.  She  made  no  sound  in  answer  to  Mrs. 
Heyrick's  tearful  appeals  at  the  door. 


208 


CHAPTER  XIII 
In  Time  of  Drought 

THE  night  lay  still  on  Dinkinbar,  and  hot — 
so  hot  that  the  very  moonlight  fell  at  first 
upon  the  earth  with  a  sultry  flare,  for  the  moon 
rose  sluggishly,  and  showed  a  featureless,  gigantic 
disc  that  seemed  as  though  it  must  have  issued 
from  the  jaws  of  some  huge  furnace  that  lay 
beyond  the  hills.  The  shadows  started  out  and 
lay  full  length  and  dusky  red  across  the  plain, 
making  the  heat  visible. 

Mrs.  Heyrick  lay  back  in  a  deep  canvas  chair, 
showing  a  distress  of  weariness  in  every  limb 
and  line,  and  flicking  restlessly  now  and  then 
at  her  face  with  the  corner  of  a  sodden  handker- 
chief. Light  footsteps  were  going  uneasily  to 
and  fro  from  room  to  room  in  the  empty  house. 
As  they  came  out  and  paused  upon  the  threshold 
of  the  front  door,  the  grey-haired  woman  shrank 
a  little  in  her  chair  and  then  lay  still,  but  neither 
turned  nor  spoke. 

"  You  think  I'm  quite  right  then,  Aunt  Martha, 
to  go  away  back  home  at  once  after  this  ?  " 

209  p 


DINKINBAR 

"  Susie!  did  I  say  that  ?" 

"  No,  you  didn't.  That's  just  it.  You  bring 
me  out  here — why  did  you  bring  me  here,  I 
wonder  ? —  and  just  the  very  first  real  trouble 
that  turns  up  you  refuse  me  your  help  and  sym- 
pathy." 

The  elder  woman  swayed  her  head  weariedly 
against  the  chair  and  swallowed  a  sob.  "  Come 
here  to  me,  child " — she  made  room  beside  her 
and  held  out  a  hand — "come  here  and  try  me. 
Don't  speak  of  it  while  it's  hot  in  you,  and  on  a 
night  like  this.  I  know  how  it  tries  the  nerves, 
this  weather.     Sleep  on  it,  Susie." 

"  Sleep  !  "  The  girl  laughed  derisively,  and, 
leaning  a  hand  on  each  door-post,  looked  straight 
before  her.  "  The  weather  has  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  it.  I  won't  come  near  you ;  and  it's 
just  the  time  to  speak  plainly  about  everything. 
No,  sit  where  you  are,  Aunt  Martha.  I  tell  you 
I  mean  to  talk  the  whole  matter  calmly  out,  and 
if  you  rise,  I'll  run  away." 

The  elder  woman  was  crying  noiselessly,  and 
making  no  attempt  to  wipe  away  her  tears  ;  the 
younger  stared  out  movelessly  across  the  plain. 
"  You  might  at  least  have  warned  me,"  she  said 
at  last  with  a  hard  fretfulness. 

"  My  dear,  I  didn't  know,"  Aunt  Martha  said 
weakly  and  faintly.      "  I'm  old  and  dull,  and  you 

210 


IN    TIME    OF    DROUGHT 

— you're  fine  and  quick,  and — your  young  eyes 
see  what  I've  missed.  It's  you  that's  teaching 
me  new  things." 

The  2firl  flung:  aside  the  offer  of  submission 
with  an  angry  toss.  "  You've  lived  your  life  here, 
and  watched  one  man  sink  lower  than  a  savage 
— if  he  or  I  had  only  died  ! — and  helped  to  set 
four  more  in  the  same  way  of  going,  and  you  sit 
by  and  see  nothing — nothing.  Ha  !  ha  !  You 
didn't  notice  either,  did  you,  Aunt  Martha,  that 
they're  doing  your  work  all  the  time — making 
you  and  Uncle  Joseph  rich  ?  " 

Aunt  Martha,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands, 
was  rocking  woefully  to  and  fro  in  her  chair. 

"  Child,  be  still,  be  still !  "  she  moaned  ;  "  you'll 
break  my  old  heart." 

"  No,  oh  no  " — the  girl  was  swaying  herself 
gently  with  her  outstretched  hands — "  hearts  do 
not  break.  And  what  does  it  matter,  any  way  ? 
Nothing ;  nothing  at  all.  God  makes  them  to 
wear  well — too  well.  Now  I  know  what  it  means 
to  be  a  man.  Courage  and  gentleness  and  truth 
and  courtesy  are  nothing.  They're  sins — out 
here  they  are,  anyhow.  He  must  take  them  all 
— all  the  nobler  things  in  him — in  both  hands, 
and  stamp  the  life  out  of  them,  and  fling  them  to 
the  dogs — no,  to  the  blacks.  Then  he'll  get  on  in 
the  world." 

211 


DINKINBAR 

Aunt  Martha  threw  herself  back  limply  in  the 
chair,  and  moaned. 

"  Then  he'll  get  on.  And  the  woman's  part  is 
to  sit  by  with  folded  hands  and  see  nothing,  and 
say  nothing,  and  do  nothing  till  he's  a  finished 
brute.  Then  she  gives  him  her  body,  and  they 
order  her — her  shroud  it  should  be  called,  and 
there  are  wedding  bells." 

"  Hush,  dearie  !  Hush,  my  lamb,  for  the  love 
of  God  ! " 

Susie  laughed.  "Yes,  for  the  love  of  God,  for 
it  isn't  the  love  of  woman."  The  white  figure 
with  the  arms  outspread  continued  to  sway  rhyth- 
mically in  the  doorway. 

The  moon  by  now  was  above  the  fiery  vapour- 
belt  that  lay  about  the  earth,  and  her  light  upon 
the  plain  was  hard  and  clear.  Two  riders,  their 
horses  plodding  dejectedly,  were  approaching  the 
house. 

Aunt  Martha  rose  hurriedly,  and  laid  a  hand 
on  Susie's  arm.  "  There,  my  pretty,"  she  said 
gently ;  "  come  with  me  now,  and  you'll  see  the 
old  woman  knows  your  sorrow.  Come.  It's 
bitter  times.  See  the  men,  how  tired  they  look. 
Come  away." 

But  the  girl's  hands  clung  obstinately  to  the 
door-posts,  and  the  muscles  of  her  arms  were  rigid. 
She  paid  no  heed  to  Aunt   Martha's  pleadings, 

212 


IN    TIME    OF    DROUGHT 

and  the  men  came  slowly  and  silently  forward. 
They  rode  heedlessly,  and  would  have  passed  the 
house  in  silence  had  not  Susie,  unmoved  by  Aunt 
Martha's  timid  beseechings,  hailed  Uncle  Joseph 
as  he  passed.  Both  men  pulled  up,  and  peered 
inquiringly  into  the  dimness  beneath  the  veran- 
dah. 

"  Oh,  it's  only  a  little  thing,"  Susie  called  in  a 
ringing  voice  as  she  still,  unhindered  by  Aunt 
Martha's  hands  upon  her,  swung  herself  mono- 
tonously in  the  doorway;  "a  matter  of  no  con- 
sequence, none  at  all.  I'm  going  home."  The 
voice  began  to  wander  strangely  amongst  tones 
that  were  strident  and  unfamiliar  to  it.  "  My 
aunt  and  I  have — we  are  quite  agreed — talked 
it  over  quietly.  I  only  mention  it  —  because 
it's  quite  settled,  and  we  won't — refer  to  it 
again.  Thank  you,  because — the  cause — the  cause 
of  my — the  cause " 

Aunt  Martha  was  moving  aimlessly  and  in  an 
agony  of  helplessness  about  the  girl,  who  swayed 
gently  as  before.  The  men  had  dismounted 
silently.  A  pause  followed  on  Susie's  words,  a 
pause  into  which  there  broke  the  faint,  incessant 
voice  of  the  river  below  as  it  muttered  and 
babbled  between  its  drought-bitten  banks. 

The  people  about  the  verandah  were  so  still 
when  the  girl's  v°ice  na^  faltered  and  ceased  that 

213 


DINKINBAR 

the  sounds  of  three  dragging  steps  and  then  of  a 
heavy  double  plunge  in  the  deep  water-hole  be- 
low the  house  fell  like  a  blow  upon  their  ears. 

"Fetch  a  light!"  Ned  shouted,  as  he  raced 
down  the  slope.  Uncle  Joseph  followed  more 
carefully,  gathering  twigs  and  leaves  as  he  went, 
and  the  women  were  left  alone.  The  horses 
moved  spiritlessly  about,  getting  their  feet  en- 
tangled in  the  hanging  reins. 

When  the  noise  of  Ned's  hurrying  down  the 
bank  ended  in  a  sullen  splash  in  the  creek,  the 
girl  stood  up  still  ;  when  the  tree-trunks  on  the 
bank  were  patterned  against  the  blinking  of  a 
fire-glow  down  by  the  water,  she  started  suddenly 
at  an  unsteady  run  for  the  light,  leaving  Aunt 
Martha  to  follow  her,  beseeching  desperately  and 
unavailingly. 

When  the  women  reached  the  water,  Uncle 
Joseph  was  feeding  a  wood  fire,  and  Ned,  bare- 
headed, his  clothes  clinging  to  him  and  the  water 
squelching  in  his  boots,  was  stooping  and  peer- 
ing along  the  line  of  the  steep,  black,  muddy 
margin  with  a  swift,  silent,  savage  intentness  in 
every  step  and  movement  that  betokened  a  busi- 
ness of  life  and  death.  Crouching  suddenly 
lower,  he  shot  out  a  finger,  as  if  proclaiming  that 
what  he  sought  had  been  found.  He  rose  to  his 
fullest  height,  joined  his  hands  above  his  head, 

214 


IN    TIME    OF    DROUGHT 

and  with  one  look  upward   he   dived  and  disap- 
peared into  the  black  water. 

The  song  of  the  shallows  above  the  pool  stole 
down  like  music  on  the  heavy  air  ;  the  broken 
surface  was  marred  with  fleeting,  tawny  flashes, 
like  wisps  of  flame  from  a  wind-blown  torch,  and 
a  dying,  drowsy  "glug-glug-glug"  sounded  as  the 
water  lipped  beneath  a  hollow  in  the  bank.  The 
three  figures  by  the  fire  neither  moved  nor  spoke, 
and  but  for  the  shifting  sparkles  in  their  eyes  they 
appeared  as  steady  in  the  leaping  light  of  the 
fire  as  the  very  tree-trunks  round  them.  The 
common  laws  of  life  seemed  for  some  incalculable 
time  to  be  suspended  for  them,  until  the  surface 
of  the  water  was  troubled  from  below  and  a  head 
rose  ;  then  a  pair  of  arms  and  shoulders,  labour- 
ing heavily  towards  the  bank  with  a  limp  and 
lifeless  burden. 

Uncle  Joseph  planted  himself  on  the  slope 
within  reach  of  the  water,  and  reached  back  a 
hand  and  arm  which  the  women  seized  from 
above,  leaning  their  weight  upon  it  as  he  caught 
a  wisp  of  the  mass  of  black  hair  that  was  floating 
and  clinging  idly  round  Ned's  neck  and  arms. 
Then  amongst  them  the  three,  without  a  word 
except  of  hard-breathed  instruction  to  one  another, 
drew  out  the  wet,  round-limbed  body  of  little 
Noorna,  the  black  girl.      It  was  naked,  save  for  a 

215 


DINKINBAR 

wisp  of  sodden  rag  that  was  tied  about  the  waist, 
with  its  ends  firmly  knotted  round  a  stone  twice 
as  big  as  the  girl's  head. 

Ned  drew  himself  painfully,  like  a  spent  and 
wounded  animal,  on  hands  and  knees  up  to  the 
bank  and  crouched  at  the  feet  of  Noorna,  at 
whom  he  stared  dazedly,  while  his  body,  incapable 
of  further  effort,  heaved  and  sank  to  his  deep  and 
broken  breathing.  The  old  squatter  and  his  wife 
fell  at  once,  with  the  firm  despatch  of  folk  that 
are  seasoned  to  alarms,  to  restorative  measures 
on  the  body  of  the  girl,  while  Susie,  overcome 
with  a  curious  stillness  of  demeanour,  helped  in 
the  work  of  mercy  as  she  was  bidden,  firmly  and 
capably,  but  coldly,  and  as  if  there  were  neither 
heart  nor  hope  in  her  endeavours. 

In  half  an  hour  Uncle  Joseph  stood  up,  aban- 
doning his  efforts  at  resuscitation  as  promptly  as 
he  had  begun  them.  "  She's  dead,"  he  said  dryly, 
wiping  his  wet  forehead.  "  The  savages  are  wiser 
than  us  in  these  things,  and  braver.  They  never 
half  do  it.  Close  down  the  child's  eyes,  Martha. 
She  must  be  buried  by  sunrise." 

Aunt  Martha  knelt  beside  the  body  and  closed 
the  staring  eyes  and  composed  the  limbs,  already 
stiffening.  Susie  looked  on  a  moment,  then  sud- 
denly knelt  down  opposite  her  aunt  and  helped 
tenderly  and  patiently  in  the  work. 

216 


IN    TIME    OF    DROUGHT 

Uncle  Joseph  made  as  if  to  draw  her  back,  but 
his  wife  held  up  a  hand  against  him.  "  Leave 
her,  Joe,"  she  said  quietly ;  "  it's  the  woman's 
share." 

They  crossed  the  hands  upon  the  breast,  and 
tidied  up  the  wild  black  hair,  and  so  ordered  the 
little  body  that  in  the  red  light  of  the  waning  fire 
it  lay  as  if  asleep.  When  the  work  was  done, 
the  two  white  women  knelt  upright  a  moment, 
with  hands  on  knees,  looking  down  upon  the  black 
one.  Ned  was  standing  up  by  Noorna's  feet 
now,  with  muddy  hands  and  clothes,  numbed 
and  frightened-looking.  Uncle  Joseph  silently 
uncovered,  and  for  a  moment  the  chattering  of 
the  water  at  the  creek-crossing  filled  all  the  air 
with  its  sound. 

"  There,"  Uncle  Joseph  said,  replacing  his  hat; 
"  come,  this  is  no  time  for  talking." 

He  laid  his  hand  almost  roughly  on  Susie's 
shoulder,  for  the  girl  had  flung  herself  down  be- 
side Noorna,  and,  after  kissing  the  cheek,  was 
whispering  wildly  in  the  dead  ear.  Ned,  as  he 
stooped  forward  and  caught  the  girl's  words  as 
they  fell  clearly  on  the  stillness,  was  agitated  as 
if  invisible  hands  were  shaking  him. 

"Martha,"  Uncle  Joseph  called  sternly,  "take 
her  away." 

But  the  girl  was  unmoved  by  touch  or  appeal, 

217 


DINKINBAR 

and  continued  her  restless  whispering,  clasping 
Noorna's  face  with  one  arm.  Except  the  first 
few  words  that  had  set  Ned  shaking,  none  heard 
what  she  said,  for  Uncle  Joseph  kept  on  issuing 
his  peremptory  commands  so  as  to  drown  the 
girl's  words  in  his. 

At  last  she  came  hurriedly  to  her  feet,  and 
stood  facing  the  shivering  Ned.  At  sight  of  him 
she  threw  out  her  hands  repeatedly,  and  with 
averted  face  seemed  for  one  wild  instant  to  fight 
against  crowding  horrors.  Then  she  dropped 
senseless  beside  the  body  of  Noorna. 


218 


CHAPTER    XIV 
God    Sent    His    Messenger 

THE  master  of  Dinkinbar  paced  in  the  dead 
of  night  on  stockinged  feet  along  his 
front  verandah.  The  iron  above  him  sang  to 
the  steady  lash  of  straight-falling  solid  rain  ; 
and  rain  plashed  from  the  hollows  of  the  roof 
to  the  ground  below,  sending  up  a  minute 
babble  like  the  voices  of  children.  The  air 
was  moisture-laden  and  sweet  to  the  mouth ; 
from  out  of  doors  there  came  from  the  whole 
earth  a  soft,  huge  sighing  like  the  breath  of  a 
sleeper  that  has  sunk  from  fever-tossing  into  cool, 
life-giving,  dreamless  rest ;  and  from  the  broad 
face  of  the  plain,  lost  in  darkness,  there  rose  the 
gruff  thanksgivings  of  a  multitude  of  bull-mouthed 
frogs. 

The  music  of  the  pastoral  hymn  ot  praise  for 
mercy  long  withheld  that  rose  on  every  side  of 
him  seemed  merely  to  add  poignancy  to  the 
unaccustomed  troubles  that  had  been  laid  upon 
the  squatter,  closing  his  lips  to  thankfulness  for 

219 


D1NKINBAR 

the  ransom  of  his  possessions.  At  one  end  of 
the  verandah  he  stopped  at  every  turn  before 
a  dim-lighted,  curtained  window  that  shone  like 
a  sleepless  eye  in  the  darkness  of  the  house-front. 
There  had  for  long  been  stillness  behind  the 
curtain,  and  the  faint,  distressing  fragrance  of  a 
sick  room  hung  about  the  window  ;  and  each  time 
as  he  paused  before  it  Mr.  Heyrick  bent  to  listen 
eagerly.  But  at  the  other  limit  of  his  walk  he 
would  often  stop  and  give  a  double-handed  twist 
to  a  paper  he  held  clutched  behind  him,  and  stare 
out  ferociously  into  the  rainy  darkness.  More 
than  once  he  drew  a  hard  breath  as  if  to  curse 
the  very  sound  of  the  rain  ;  then  the  silent  room 
would  draw  him  back  again  to  listen. 

He  was  wringing  the  paper  in  his  hands  when 
a  whisper  called  him  to  the  doorway,  and  he 
hurried  to  it.  His  wife  was  there.  She  put 
a  hand  on  each  of  his  shoulders  and  her  face 
against  his  breast,  and  broke  into  quick  and 
smothered  sobbing.  He  dropped  the  twisted 
paper,  half  carried  her  to  a  chair  furthest  from 
the  sick-room,  and  sat  down  beside  her,  bowed 
and  broken  -  looking,  and  staring  out  stupidly 
before  him,  with  one  arm  about  his  wife's 
shoulders. 

Mrs.  Heyrick  tried  again  and  again  to  speak  ; 
but  her  voice  refused  control.     At  last  she  con- 

220 


GOD    SENT    HIS    MESSENGER 

trived  to  whisper  in  snatches,  choking  wildly 
between  them, — 

"She's  —  cool  —  and  quiet.  Sleeping  like  a 
baby.  The  rain — the  rain  saved  her.  She  will 
—be  well." 

Mr.  Hey  rick  straightened  himself  up  at  the 
words  and  held  in  a  mighty  breath,  looking 
wonderingly  at  the  roof  above  him,  and  rocking 
his  wife  slowly  in  her  chair  with  his  big  hand. 
"  God  bless  us  all  ! '!  he  said  gently,  letting  his 
chest  subside  on  the  words. 

"  You  thought — the  worst.  I  could  see  it.  I 
couldn't  tell  you — couldn't  speak.  It's  my  own — 
body  and  mind  lying  there.  Wherever  she  went 
— I  was  going  too.  The  poor  wounded  thing. 
My  heart's  blood  is  in  her." 

"  There,  there,"  he  said,  stroking  the  grey  hair 
gently. 

"  Joe,"  she  said,  drawing  down  the  hand  from 
her  head,  and  holding  it  fast  in  both  her  own, 
"what  is  the  life  she's  come  back  to?  It  was 
death  to  lose  her,  but — oh,  my  lamb,  my  lamb, — 
what's  left  for  you  ?  "  She  lay  back  and  locked 
her  fingers  tighter  on  the  hand  in  her  lap.  "  I 
brought  it  on  her  ;  I  " — she  moaned, — "  I  brought 
her  to  her  sorrow.   If  I  hadn't  urged  her  to  come  ! " 

"  See  now,  see  now  ;  there's  sorrow  everywhere  ; 
and  at  home  there'd  have  been  none  to  share  it 

221 


DINKINBAR 

with  her,  as  you  can  share  it.  It's  a  dark  hour 
o'  the  night,  and  maybe  joy  cometh  in  the  morn- 
ing. We  wore  through  a  blacker  night  than  this, 
Martha  ;  and  even  for  that  there  was  comfort." 

The  fingers  tightened  again  suddenly  on  his, 
and  then  relaxed  ;  and  for  a  long  while  they  sat 
silent. 

The  wide-throated  frogs  kept  up  their  tumult 
incessantly,  and,  though  the  noise  roared  in  the 
ears  as  loudly  as  the  beating  of  countless  hammers 
near  at  hand,  the  hubbub  fell  agreeably  on  the 
senses,  and  accentuated  rather  than  obscured 
the  swish  and  chatter  of  the  falling  raindrops. 

Gradually  man  and  wife  found  some  of  that 
mutual  consolation  in  calamity  which  is  the  final 
test  of  friendship  and  the  enduring  stay  of  love — ■ 
in  a  sharing  of  the  burden  of  their  thoughts  by 
simple  speech. 

"  Are  there  new  troubles  come  to  plague  young 
people,  Joe,  since  you  and  I  began  life  ?  Must  the 
old  people  always  stand  and  look  on,  helpless  ?  " 

"  I  expect  we  must.  We  can  tell  the  young 
ones  ;  but  telling  isn't  teaching,  else  the  world 
would  have  grown  wise  long  ago.  Ay,  ay ;  it's 
only  the  old  troubles  in  new  shapes  that  come 
to  each  of  us  ;  and  sometimes  we  have  to  sit  by 
and  learn  at  the  youngsters'  hands." 

His  wife  tenderly  stroked  the  big  hand  in  her 

222 


GOD    SENT    HIS    MESSENGER 

lap.  "  And  Ned,  Joe ;  to  leave  us  as  he  did  at 
the  sorest  of  the  trouble — won't  he  come  back 
soon  ?  "  The  voice  broke  on  the  feeble  charge 
of  desertion,  and  died  out  piteously  in  regret. 

"  I  think,"  Mr.  Heyrick  answered  slowly  and 
carefully,  "  that  we  shall  never  see  his  face  again." 
He  signed  towards  the  dim-lighted  window,  and 
lowered  his  voice  to  a  half  whisper  as  he  leaned 
towards  his  wife.  "  I  was  too  blunt  and  hard 
with  him,  Martha.  The  boy  was  finer  stuff  than 
me.  She  taught  me  that ;  she  might  have  saved 
him.  Now  ?  well,  he's  gone  from  us  ;  and  God 
forgive  me,  but  it's  I  that  must  answer  for  him  if 
I'm  called  at  the  last.      I  was  too  hard." 

"  Follow  him,  Joe.  Take  horses  to-morrow  ; 
follow  him  and  bring  him  back." 

The  old  squatter  held  up  his  right  hand  and 
heavily  shook  his  bent  head.  "  He's  learned  his 
trade  too  well,  woman — he'll  leave  no  tracks  that 
I  could  follow.  And  if  I  found  him  ?  No.  He 
left  word  for  me  that  meant  good-bye." 

"  He  meant  no  wrong,  Joe." 

"He  has  done  no  wrong — if  it  was  only  the 
guilty  that  suffered !  But  he  was  born  with  the 
one  sin  upon  him  that  never  goes  unpunished 
in  this  world." 

"Joe!" 

"  He's    tender-skinned,    and    he    has   pity    for 

223 


DINKINBAR 

helpless  things,  and  he  will  not,"  Mr.  Heyrick 
added  bitterly,  "  play  Jacob,  or  bite  the  hand 
that  feeds  him.     Oh,  his  punishment  is  sure." 

Mrs.  Heyrick  leaned  forward  and  peered 
curiously  at  her  husband's  face  in  the  darkness, 
keeping  still  tight  hold  of  his  hand.  "Joe,  you 
are  strange  to-night."  She  leaned  back  again 
slowly.  "And  no  wonder,  no  wonder!  No,  I 
can't  believe  it !  Ned  gone  away,  and  he  spoke 
no  word  to  me  !     I  can't !  " 

"  There  was  a  change  in  him  when  we  came 
back  from  home."  Mr.  Heyrick  spoke  in  a 
measured  sadness  altogether  unusual  with  him. 
"  I've  seen  men  go  that  way ;  turn  their  faces 
from  their  kind  and  go  out  —  like  lepers.  I 
despised  them.  I  called  them  brutes.  I  know 
better  now — too  late.  The  child  there  taught 
me,  though  she  will  never  know  herself." 

Mrs.  Heyrick  bent  forward  in  a  sudden  passion 
of  weeping.  Her  husband  leaned  above  her  a 
moment  as  though  racking  his  brain  for  words 
to  comfort  her.  He  found  none,  and  settled  back 
into  his  chair,  merely  giving  the  fingers  that  held 
to  his  own  a  friendly  pressure.  For  a  long  time 
they  both  listened  in  silence  to  the  busy  frogs 
and  the  steady  roar  of  the  rain. 

Mrs.  Heyrick  rose  to  go  indoors.  '  She  started 
back  with  a  sob  of  fear  as  her  toe  struck  the  wisp 

224 


GOD    SENT    HIS    MESSENGER 

of  paper  that  lay  near  the  door,  causing  it  to 
rustle  harshly.  She  smiled  wearily  though  it  was 
dark,  as  she  mechanically  lifted  the  paper,  and 
said  weakly,  "  It's  nothing,  nothing.  I'll  sleep 
to-night ;  "  and  she  began  to  unfold  the  paper 
absently. 

"  Ay,  you  need  rest,  and  " — Mr.  Heyrick  added 
with  elaborate  carelessness — "  I'll  take  the  let — 
the  paper,  Martha.      I  dropped  it." 

He  was  unpractised  in  deceit ;  his  wife  drew 
near  and  scanned  his  face  closely.  "  You're 
hiding  something  from  me  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Give  me  the  paper,  and  go  to  your  rest." 

"  There's  more  trouble  to  tell,"  she  said,  coming 
closer  still.  "  Shall  I  rest,  think  you,  if  I  don't 
share  it  ?     Come." 

"  To-morrow,  to-morrow." 

"  This  minute."  She  shook  him  gently  by  the 
shoulders. 

"  There's  trouble,  then,  from  the  south  as  well 
as  the  north.  My  offer  for  Meadow  Flat — has 
been  refused." 

"Joe,  Joe  ! — why  ?  " 

"  I  was  too  late,  and  the  other  offered  all  cash, 
any  way." 

"  The  other — what  other  ?  " 

"  A    young    man    named    Creswell — yes,    that 

same." 

225  Q 


DINKINBAR 

She  reached  up  and  held  his  face  in  both  her 
hands.  "  Old  man,  it's  hard,  it's  bitter  hard ; 
and  you'd  have  kept  it  from  me  ?  See."  She 
kissed  him.  "  Go  and  sleep  ;  and  I  must  run 
to  my  child. — Creswell !  There's  no  luck  for  us 
in  that  land,  Joe.  And  something  tells  me,  as  I 
speak,  that  there's  hope  somewhere  watching  this 
house."  She  had  grown  suddenly  almost  cheer- 
ful as  she  left  him  and  crept  into  the  dim-lighted 
room. 

Mrs.  Heyrick  was  still  unreasonably  cheerful 
after  she  had  bent  above  the  face  of  the  sleeping 
girl.  The  face  was  white  even  against  the  white 
pillow,  fragile  and  sunken,  with  the  look  upon 
it  of  piteous  innocence  and  utterly  confiding 
helplessness  that  feeds  the  pure  passion  of 
motherhood  and  makes  strong  men  afraid.  The 
breath  came  and  went  so  faintly  between  the 
lips — with  such  a  tiny,  laboured  lift  to  the  in- 
drawing,  and  such  a  small,  weary  sinking  at  the 
expiration — that  to  an  anxious,  ignorant  eye  it 
might  have  meant  that  flesh  and  spirit  were 
fluttering  asunder,  being  tired  out  in  the  needful 
effort  to  hold  the  slim  body  on  to  life.  But  the 
elderly  woman  touched  the  moist,  cool  skin,  felt 
the  warm,  living  fragrance  of  the  hair,  and  saw 
how  the  frail  current  of  the  blood  had  strengthened 
the  colour  of  the  lips ;  and  whispered  a  host  of 

226 


GOD    SENT    HIS    MESSENGER 

childish  nonsense  about  health  and  happiness,  and 
sunny  days  to  come.  She  was  lavish  in  her 
promises — as  lavish  as  though  she  were  a  fairy 
godmother,  and  had  the  sleeping  girl's  happiness 
in  omnipotent  charge — that  the  very  sweetest  and 
dearest  maidenhood  that  ever  God  had  created 
and  set  the  sun  to  shine  upon,  should  not  be 
wasted,  and  withered,  and  soured ;  not  if  she 
could  help  it.  But  last  of  all,  before  she  lay 
down  at  the  girl's  feet,  she  cried  again  bitterly, 
and  poured  out  her  heart  in  an  agony  of  prayer. 

Mr.  Hey  rick,  before  he  went  to  bed,  watched 
his  crumpled  letter  turn  to  glowing  flakes  in  the 
embers  of  the  sitting-room  fire  ;  and  as  the  flakes 
went  black  and  the  last  of  the  busy  sparks  chased 
one  another  headlong  through  the  intricacies  of 
the  charred  paper  and  went  out,  he  made  a  move- 
ment of  washing  his  hands  and  casting  something 
invisible  from  him.  He  listened  long  at  the  door 
of  the  silent  sick-room  and  went  to  bed,  soliloquis- 
ing sternly  upon  the  incalculable  silliness  of 
women. 


227 


CHAPTER  XV 
A  Humble   Remonstrance 

THE  world,  and  all  the  ages'  scour  upon  it 
that  we  call  Life,  is  an  open  book  in  which 
every  one  who  lists  may  read  confirmation  in 
precedent  and  parable  for  all  his  ways  and  works. 
Nature  importunes  us  with  irrefutable  testimony, 
certifying  to  the  inevitable  accuracy  of  each  one  of 
all  those  fleeting  accidents  of  mood  upon  mind 
which  we  call  by  the  name  of  ideas  and  opinions. 
In  the  hoarded  sayings  of  the  wise  every  pithy 
negative  is  as  pithily  affirmed  in  some  imperish- 
able fragment  of  world-wisdom  ;  there  are  pro- 
verbs to  suit  all  tastes,  since  in  the  welter  that  is 
called  Humanity  no  two  of  the  restless  atoms  see 
or  think  or  speak  alike  upon  the  single  solid 
ground  of  Nature  out  of  which  they  grew. 

The  country  that  three  weeks  before  had 
seemed  withered  to  its  marrow  was  knee-deep 
everywhere  with  pasture  and  herbage  of  dazzling 
green  ;  the  air  was  laden  with  the  scent  of  grow- 
ing things,  and  luscious  with  a  mellow,  quickening 

228 


A    HUMBLE    REMONSTRANCE 

warmth.  The  little  garden-patch  of  Dinkinbar 
was  populous  with  tall,  rude-growing  weeds,  that 
flourished  with  a  barbarian  strength  and  over- 
topped the  shyer,  alien  plants ;  grass  sprouted 
thickly  to  the  very  edge  of  the  verandah,  as  if 
threatening  even  the  earthen  floors  of  the  house 
with  an  invasion  of  greenness.  The  sky  had  lost 
its  jewelled  hardness,  and  all  day  huge,  stately 
cloud-flotillas  drifted  overhead  like  white-hulled 
laden  merchantmen  swimming  up-river  on  a  flow- 
ing tide. 

Susie  Thynne  had  stooped  to  pluck  out  some 
of  the  weeds  that  had  crowded  together  in  the 
treasured  patch  of  English  violets  in  the  garden. 
The  trespassers  were  tough- rooted  things  ;  she 
desisted  from  her  work,  having  made  no  visible 
impression  on  their  density,  and  dragged  herself 
weakly,  by  clinging  to  the  sill  of  a  window  in  the 
bachelors'  quarters,  to  her  feet.  She  peeped  into 
the  room ;  it  was  empty  and  in  melancholy, 
mannish  disarray.  The  girl  looked  down  in 
answer  to  a  tiny  greeting;  a  small  kitten  was 
sidling  and  curvetting  along  the  garden  walk  in 
the  manner  of  a  charger  held  on  the  curb,  with 
her  tail  arched  well  forward  and  showing  in  her 
eyes  an  intensity  of  mischief  and  merriment 
that  bordered  on  paroxysm.  She  brushed  her 
whiskers    serenely   on    a   weed-stem,    sat    down 

229 


DINKINBAR 

suddenly,  purred  her  little  loudest  and  stared  up 
at  the  girl  with  inscrutable  fixity.  Susie  put  out 
a  hand  as  if  the  searching  eyes  disturbed  her. 

"  Weekie,  Weekie,"  she  said ;  "  I  know  now 
why  they  worshipped  cats  and  snakes.  They 
feared  them,  as  I  fear  you,  you  morsel  of  inno- 
cence." 

But  Weekie's  attention  had  strayed  to  the  tip 
of  her  own  tail,  which  was  moving  in  the  grass, 
and  she  flung  off  the  role  of  deity  for  that  of 
tiger.  The  girl  broke  into  incontrollable  laughter, 
that  spread  downward  suddenly  and  shook  her 
till  she  found  herself  again  holding  to  the  window 
for  support.  A  fit  of  sobbing  seemed  inevitable, 
but  from  that  she  was  saved  by  a  return  of  her 
interest  to  Weekie,  who  was  now  laid  out  to 
spring,  as  she  settled  her  hind  feet  beneath  her 
and  glared  with  a  fell  and  drawn  intentness  at  a 
huge  grasshopper  that  was  sunning  its  bravery  of 
lincoln  green  in  the  path. 

"  Weekie !  Oh,  let  him  live  !  "  Susie  cried  out 
in  agony.  It  was  too  late.  Before  the  girl  in 
her  weakness  could  intervene,  Weekie  had  sprung, 
and  a  little  velvet  paw  set  with  a  row  of  tiny 
blue-black  scimitars  had  swept  down  the  grass- 
hopper as  it  rose.  Weekie  wrenched  off  one  of 
the  athletic  saw- toothed  legs  with  her,  teeth  and 
looked  up,  beaming  with  pride  and  purring  voci- 

230 


A    HUMBLE    REMONSTRANCE 

ferously.  Then  she  pushed  the  insect  coaxingly 
with  an  upturned  paw,  seeking  for  an  opening  to 
that  game  of  exquisite  grace  and  cruelty  on  the 
one  part,  and  tragic  helplessness  on  the  other, 
that  is  played  between  a  cat  and  its  maimed 
victim.  The  challenge  was  not  taken  up  ;  the 
grasshopper  was  dead,  and  Weekie  strolled  away 
in  excellent  spirits,  working  off  her  exuberance 
and  exercising  her  alertness  in  shying  at  and 
defending  herself  from  imaginary  alarms  and 
attacks  from  the  jungle  of  weeds. 

Susie  laid  the  mangled  grasshopper  in  a  little 
hollow  in  the  fragrant  earth,  and  cried  weakly  as 
she  pressed  down  a  warm,  moist  clod  over  the 
small  dismembered  body.  She  went  through  the 
empty  house.  Blucher,  looking  unspeakable  for- 
lornness  and  most  abject  submission  and  loyalty 
out  of  his  rich  brown  eyes,  was  sitting  among  the 
grass  in  front  of  the  house,  and  Weekie  was 
"  setting "  him  from  the  verandah-edge  ;  but  as 
she  flung  herself  recklessly  upon  him,  her  wild- 
beast  charge  ended  in  a  baby-like  hugging  of  one 
of  his  forelegs.  Blucher  looked  down  at  the  kitten 
in  amiable,  gratified  tolerance. 

Susie  rubbed  one  of  the  dog's  ears  and  said 
into  the  other,  "  Still  sorrowing  for  your  mate, 
doggie  ?  Or  do  you  know  as  little  as  I  do  what  it  is 
we've  lost  ? " 

231 


DINKINBAR 

Blucher  tendered  thanks  for  comfort  in  his 
loneliness  by  giving  his  peculiar  hollow  cheer  ;  at 
the  sound  of  it  Weekie  disappeared  in  a  panic 
into  the  long  grass. 

The  girl  went  slowly  to  the  stockyard,  and  the 
animals  followed  her,  each  after  the  manner  of  its 
kind.  A  running  vibration  amongst  the  grass- 
stalks  showed  where  Weekie  was  making  panther- 
like rushes ;  and  now  and  then  she  would  appear 
for  an  instant  as  she  leapt  up  to  claw  down  some 
winged  creature  as  a  living  sacrifice  to  her  joy 
in  existence  on  this  splendid  forenoon.  Blucher 
kept  close  at  Susie's  side,  often  lifting  his  rugged 
eyebrows  to  gaze  up  at  her  in  furtive  adoration. 

The  rains  had  transformed  the  choking  dust 
of  the  stockyard  into  beds  of  rich  and  steamy 
earth,  and  inside  the  fences  the  idle  ground  was 
sheeted  with  a  bloom  of  vivid  green,  as  though 
the  yards  were  so  many  forcing-grounds  for  the 
spawn  of  desolation  that  was  come  to  obliterate 
the  forsaken  works  of  meddlesome  humanity.  A 
heap  of  refuse  from  the  branding-pen  was  studded 
thick  with  creamy-topped,  pink-gilled  button 
mushrooms. 

Susie  stopped  to  lean  wearily  against  the  big 
post  at  the  corner  of  the  angle  that  embraced  the 
milking-yard  where,  on  her  first  morning  at  Din- 
kinbar,  she  had  hung  back  in  terrified  suspense 

232 


A    HUMBLE    REMONSTRANCE 

before  she  faced  the  embattled  line  of  the  milkers. 
The  moist  ground  here  was  thick  with  the 
moulded  tracks  of  the  cows  and  calves  that  had 
been  turned  out  for  the  day.  As  she  leaned, 
Blucher  came  to  stand  before  her  and  to  look 
his  unutterable  sympathy ;  and  Weekie,  like  a 
wanderer  suddenly  restored  after  years  of  sever- 
ance to  the  bosom  of  her  family,  rushed  headlong 
out  of  the  grass,  mewing  rapturously ;  she  rubbed 
herself  first  on  the  girl's  skirts,  then  wound  her- 
self like  a  figure-dancer  mincingly  in  and  out 
amongst  Bluchers  shaggy  legs.  Susie  wandered 
on  past  the  yards  and  followed  up  the  creek-bank. 
The  dusky  plumes  of  the  she- oaks  were  tipped 
all  over  with  sprigs  of  living  green  where  the 
re- invigorated  sap  was  already  building  up  new 
leaves  and  wood. 

Crowning  a  little  promontory  formed  by  a  sharp 
curving  of  the  creek  below,  there  stood,  wide- 
armed  and  shoulder-high  above  the  other  trees,  a 
huge  old  eucalyptian  that  was  ribbed  and  clamped 
to  the  earth  with  roots  like  scaly  python-folds. 
The  girl  sat  down  on  one  of  these,  leaning  herself 
against  a  rude  buttress  of  the  mighty  tree-trunk, 
and  looked  down  the  sloping  bank  towards  a  little 
mound  of  earth.  It  had  been  bare  and  freshly 
trodden  before  the  rain  ;  but  the  flooded  creek 
had  risen  and  smoothed  it  over  and  ebbed  again, 

233 


DINKINBAR 

leaving  river-spoil  upon  it  in  the  shape  of  seed. 
Now,  amongst  tall  grasses  there  were  garlands 
of  bronze  leaved,  tendrilled  vine,  a  cluster  of 
blue-bells  nodded  in  the  faint,  warm  breeze,  and 
three  tiny  sage-green  plants  were  starred  with 
golden  immortelles.  The  small  oblong  with  its 
vines  and  flowers  glowed  like  a  garden  set  in 
pasture-land,  and  a  crowd  of  butterflies  and 
sheeny-winged  creatures  had  gathered  about  it. 
It  was  Noorna's  grave. 

Weekie  had  curled  herself  down,  a  pattern  of 
domestic  innocence,  in  the  girl's  lap  ;  but,  having 
sighted  the  harvest  of  living  plunder  that  fluttered 
about  the  flowers,  she  had  promptly  resumed  the 
part  of  the  slayer  by  jumping  to  earth,  and,  having 
trimmed  her  claws  in  a  wisp  of  bark,  she  was  now 
drawing  near  the  little  mound,  showing  all  the 
arts  of  stealth  and  all  the  dread  fixity  of  purpose 
of  a  hardened  man-eater. 

The  earth  and  air  were  singing  and  astir  with 
sounds  and  symbols  of  happy,  healthy,  new-given 
life ;  and  yet  the  girl  found  in  it  all  a  mirror  of 
her  melancholy,  so  surely  does  Nature  speak  to 
us  according  to  the  humours  that  possess  our 
souls.  Susie  started  up  so  quickly  when  Weekie's 
purpose  declared  itself  to  her  that  the  green  earth 
swam  about  her  and  her  knees  gave  beneath  her. 
She  sank  down  upon  the  ground  and  sobbed  pas- 
sionately. 

234 


A    HUMBLE    REMONSTRANCE 

"  What  kind  o'  woman's  nonsense  is  this, 
missy  ? "  Dick  the  cook,  who  had  spoken,  was 
supporting  himself  against  the  tree  with  one  hand, 
while  in  the  other,  tucked  against  his  hip,  he  held 
a  large  soup-ladle.  He  was  looking  at  the  scene 
beneath  him  with  lofty  and  bitter  contempt,  and 
spoke  with  a  deliberate  unkindness  that  neverthe- 
less was  somehow  rendered  finely  considerate  by 
the  accent  on  the  last  word. 

The  girl  understood  perfectly,  and  looked  up 
tearfully,  spreading  out  both  hands,  one  towards 
the  cook  and  the  other  towards  the  marauding 
kitten. 

"  Stop  her,  Dick  !  "  she  sobbed.  "  Don't  let 
her  go  —  there  —  and  k  -  k  -  kill  these  happy 
things." 

Dick's  large  and  perfect  teeth  flashed  out  in 
his  emaciated  countenance  as  he  smiled  a  smile 
of  tired  malignity  ;  he  hissed  three  times  in  a 
ferocious  way,  too,  which  nevertheless  brought 
Weekie  flying  to  his  feet,  where  she  rubbed  and 
rolled  herself  in  a  frenzy  of  joy.  Dick  upbraided 
the  kitten  in  a  few  caustic  and  cutting  phrases, 
and  explained,  as  he  clambered  down  amongst 
the  roots  to  the  girl,  where  she  still  sat  helpless, 
that  all  feelings  or  demonstrations  of  gratitude  or 
affection,  brute  or  human,  were  prompted  entirely 
by  a  spirit  of  commercialism.      He  put  his  ladle 

235 


DINKINBAR 

aside,  and  gently  helped  the  girl  to  her  feet  as  he 
continued  his  discourse. 

"  And  thoughtfulness,  Dick,"  she  said  humbly, 
after  he  had  turned  away  to  deliver  a  few  telling 
sarcasms  at  the  dog,  giving  her  time  to  dry  her 
eyes.  "  I  suppose  that  means  interested  motives, 
too  ?  " 

"  That,"  he  said  icily,  giving  her  an  arm  to 
help  her  up  the  bank,  "  is  the  strictest  business  of 
all.  These  considerate  men  " — with  bitter  em- 
phasis— "is  mostly  the  biggest  hypocrites." 

"  Then,"  she  said  solemnly,  loosing  her  hold 
on  the  friendly  arm  as  they  reached  the  top  of 
the  bank,  "  I'm  afraid  it's  very  little  I  can  do  for 
you,  Dick." 

The  old  cook's  raofe  seemed  to  choke  him.  He 
brandished  the  ladle  like  a  war-club  above 
Weekie,  who  looked  up  as  if  blinded  by  her  rap- 
ture, and  purred  hysterically.  "  You  can  come 
in  this  minute  and  take  your  chicken  soup  while 
it's  hot,"  he  stormed,  "  and  waste  no  more  of 
my  precious  time  in  running  after  girls  that  has 
no  strength  and  little  sense — " 

He  had  thrust  the  arm  peremptorily  before  her. 
She  cast  her  weight  upon  it,  and  held  it  to  her 
as  they  went  slowly  to  the  house." 

The  girl  sat  long  alone  before  her  untasted 
meal,  and  was  overcome  in  turn  with  listlessness 

236 


A    HUMBLE    REMONSTRANCE 

and  with  absurd  attacks  of  an  exhausting  merri- 
ment as  she  watched  the  kitten  stalking  and  slay- 
ing supposititious  enemies  amongst  the  folds  of  her 
skirts.  At  last  she  rose,  and,  seeming  to  quell 
an  impulse  to  dispose  of  the  food  in  any  but  the 
proper  manner,  she  suddenly  carried  it  boldly  to 
the  kitchen,  and  stood  in  the  open  doorway  with 
the  tray  in  her  hands. 

"  I  can't,  Dick ;  I'm  not  hungry,"  she  said 
plaintively. 

The  cook  bit  short  a  horrible  imprecation  that 
he  was  in  the  act  of  discharging,  together  with 
some  hot  ashes  from  a  shovel,  upon  a  few  pioneer- 
ing ants  that  were  seeking  to  open  communica- 
tions for  their  main  body  with  his  meat  safe. 
With  an  air  of  desperate  irritation  he  took  the 
tray  from  Susie's  hands,  and  set  her  down  before 
it.  He  pushed  the  spoon  among  her  fingers  and 
rapped  fiercely  on  the  table.  "  Would  you  waste 
a  man's  whole  mornino-  ? "  he  shouted.  But  he 
added  almost  inaudibly  as  he  touched  her  hair 
with  the  other  hand,  "  Eat,  child,  eat."  Susie 
attacked  her  soup  obediently. 

Presently  she  paused  to  watch  him.  He  was 
spitefully  kneading  dough.  "  I've  spoiled  your 
holiday,  Dick.  Why  did  you  not  go  with  the 
rest  of  them  to  the   Races  ?  " 

Dick  pointed  sternly  with  a  floury  hand  to  the 

237 


DINKINBAR 

soup  until  the  girl  humbly  returned  to  it.  "  Be- 
cause," he  said,  and  he  prolonged  the  word  to  a 
wicked  hiss  as  he  resumed  his  pummelling  of  the 
dough,  "  because  I'd  have  got  blazing  drunk ; 
that's  why." 

Any  retort  upon  this  would  have  been  either 
clumsy  or  cruel.  The  girl  went  on  demurely 
with  her  soup.  "  There's  bread  beside  you,  as 
well,"  Dick  snapped.  She  began  upon  the  bread. 
"  That's  the  holiday  you've  spoiled,"  he  continued 
acridly.  "  You  didn't  know  I  made  a  beast  of 
myself  every  time  I  went  to  town.  You  never 
saw  me  drunk  ?  Well,  you  never  shall.  D'you 
see,  missy  ?  "  He  spoke  as  if  he  had,  of  de- 
liberate malice,  robbed  her  of  much  innocent 
enjoyment. 

The  old  man  continued  to  talk  as  he  pounded 
the  dough.  At  first  he  made  many  lurking 
pauses  ;  but,  as  the  girl  continued  to  sip  steadily 
at  her  soup  and  to  nibble  at  her  bread,  and 
offered  no  remark,  his  voice,  after  each  pause, 
grew  less  acid,  and  his  periods  less  biting,  till  at 
last  he  entered  upon  a  simple,  sorrowful  recital  of 
his  life. 

Dick's  manner  of  handling  his  dough  became 
gentler  with  his  words,  as  he  found  his  way  back- 
ward from  the  muddled  darkness  of  his  present 
to   the   serener   years    before    the    time  that  his 

238 


A    HUMBLE    REMONSTRANCE 

hardest  trial  had  come  upon  him — before  Success 
had  arrived  to  tempt  and  betray  his  better  pur- 
pose. By  the  time  the  dough  was  divided  into 
loaves  and  packed  neatly  into  the  camp-oven 
round  an  empty  cocoa-tin  in  the  centre,  he  gave 
it  the  finishing  touches  quite  gently.  As  he  put 
on  the  lid  and  lowered  the  oven  into  the  bed  of 
ashes,  and  shovelled  ashes  on  the  top,  he  seemed 
like  a  sexton  officiating  reverently  at  the  burial  of 
his  own  better  parts.  He  flattened  out  the  top 
of  the  ash-heap  neatly  with  his  shovel,  came  over 
to  the  girl,  and  bent  above  her  to  look  for  traces 
of  unfinished  food. 

She  leant  back  and  looked  up  at  him  with  a 
tinge  of  colour  in  her  face  that  had  been  wanting 
for  many  days.  She  said  nothing  ;  the  story  of 
Dick's  tangled  and  broken  life  invited  only  the 
soothing  commentary  of  silence.  And  yet  the 
girl  appeared  strangely  comforted. 

"  Your  bowl  is  empty ;  you  didn't  pocket  any 
of  the  bread,  maybe  ? ,;  he  said  with  a  touch  of 
his  old  domineering  habit  of  speech. 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled.  The  two 
looked  long  and  searchingly  at  one  another.  In 
the  dulled  freshness  and  the  deepened  and  sobered 
eyes  of  the  younger  face  there  was  some  strange 
affinity,  notwithstanding  the  utter  unlikeness,  to 
the  older  one.      It  seemed  as  if  the  blood-kinship 

239 


DINKINBAR 

of  all  human  trouble  were  being  proved  in  a  silent 
mutual  confession  of  the  tie  of  sympathy  between 
these  two ;  in  the  acknowledgment  of  a  fellow- 
feeling  somewhere  between  the  first  sorrows  of 
innocence  and  the  remorse  of  deliberate  profli- 
gacy, hardened  and  irredeemable  in  its  old  age. 

Dick  straightened  himself  up  and  looked  ab- 
sently about  his  kitchen.  The  upper  lip  drew 
in,  baring  the  strong,  perfect  teeth,  and  the  face 
took  on  a  look  of  fleshless  rigour. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  soliloquising  thinly  ;  "  it's  the 
first  time  this  thirty  year,  you  old  villain,  that 
you've  been  a  use  to  anybody — since,"  he  added, 
anticipating  interruption,  "  you  lied  to  your 
mother,  by  letter,  so  that  she  might  die  happy." 

"  Dick,"  the  girl  said  gently,  "  you  won't  do 
— do  these  wild  things  any  more,  will  you  ?  See 
how  kind  you  can  be  when  you  only  think  of 
it !  Look  how  you've  comforted  me  to-day ! 
Listen ;  I  shall  write  to  you,  and  I  shall  hear 
from  you  that  you're  always  like  this " 

"  Write  ?  "  he  thundered,  rounding  ferociously 
upon  the  girl. 

"  Yes,"  she  faltered.  "  Didn't  you  know  I  was 
going  back — home  ?  " 

He  turned  away  and  coasted  aimlessly  about 
the  kitchen.  "  Oh,"  he  said  at  last  in  settled 
gloom ;    "  I   wish   to  the   Lord    I'd  gone  to  the 

240 


A    HUMBLE    REMONSTRANCE 

Races  and  let  madam  stay,  as  she  wanted  to. 
And  five  months'  wages  rotting  in  the  Bank 
too  !  " 

"  Dick,"  the  girl  cried  distractedly,  "  you  hurt 
me." 

He  came  over  and  thumped  the  table  with  his 
open  palm.  "  I  might  as  well,"  he  said,  looking 
down  at  Susie  with  a  kind  of  desperate  com- 
placency, "  meddle  in  other  people's  business  as 
tell  you  I'm  a  rogue  and  a  drunkard.  Then 
you'd  see  I'm  the  two  ends  of  an  old  fool. 
You're  going  home,"  he  ended  frigidly. 

"  Yes,"  she  laughed  suddenly,  then  closed  her 
lips  and  looked  up  at  the  ravaged  old  face  as 
if  in  doubting  wonder  at  the  strange  ways  by 
which  she  was  being  hurried  towards  the  un- 
bosoming of  her  pent-up  confidences.  "  I  have 
only  brought  mischief  here,"  she  burst  out  at  last, 
flinging  doubt  behind  her. 

Dick  snarled  inarticulately,  and  then  retired 
upon  his  normal  manner  of  speaking  with  a  new 
zest,  as  if  to  atone  for  his  display  of  womanish- 
ness.  "Mischief?  my  word!  And  meddling. 
Look  now,  this  very  day  you  did  what  twenty 
couple    of     workin'     bullocks     would    'a    jibbed 

at" 

The  girl  looked  startled.  "  What  do  you 
mean  r 

241  R 


DINKINBAR 

He  slapped  the  table,  and  then  his  own  chest. 
"  Kept  old  Dick  from  the  drink.  That's  what 
I  mean." 

The  girl's  colour  deepened,  and  she  looked 
down  at  her  folded  fingers. 

He  went  on  contemptuously,  piling  up  his 
charges.  "  And  what's  more,  you've  kept  another 
man  sober.  This  young  gentleman  " — he  seemed 
to  spit  upon  the  word  as  it  passed  his  lips — "  this 
Aplin — I  know  that  breed — he'll  be  home  to-night, 
and  sober  at  that." 

"  But  what  have  I  done  ?  " 

"Spoiled  his  holiday.  You  spoiled  mine. 
He'd  have  had  such  a  pleasant  evening — bless 
you,  a  whole  night! — at   the  '  Three  Bushes,'  but 

for  you  being  here,  and  weak  after  your And 

Finlay  ?  " 

Dick  paused  threatfully,  but  the  girl  was  stiH 
intent  upon  her  fingers. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  went  on  maliciously,  "  you  can 
tell  me  why  he  has  took  to  washing  himself  and 
his  clothes  ?  " 

Susie  shook  her  head. 

"  If  you'd  seen  him  the  other  night,  then,  lying 
on  his  face,  out  in  the  grass  before  your  window, 
snivelling — the  clumsy  colt — at  his  prayers.  And 
other  nonsense." 

There  was  a  long  silence.     Then   Susie  said, 

242 


A    HUMBLE    REMONSTRANCE 

as  if  steeped  in  the  sense  of  her  own  guilt,  "  I 
lost  Meadow  Flat  for  my  uncle,  too." 

"  You  did,  ay.  And  you  built  Cape  York,  and 
made  all  these  creeks  about  here  run  down  hill 
instead  of  up.     You  did  that,  missy." 

He  turned  away,  and  began  to  shovel  new 
ashes  on  the  oven,  working  almost  blithely,  as 
if  he  had  wreaked  a  just  vengeance.  "Ah,  well," 
he  said  with  a  relish,  "we  can  all  go  our  ways 
soon,  missy,  when  you  knock  off  at  your  mischief- 
making — go  the  way " 

She  threw  up  her  head,  and  her  cheeks  flamed 
brilliantly.  But  his  back  was  towards  her,  and 
he  continued  quietly  after  a  brief  pause — 

«  — the  way  that  the  devil  sees  fit  to  drive." 

He  leaned  on  his  shovel  and  stared  into  the 
fire.  "  Drink's  an  awful  thing,  missy  ;  but  there's 
one  worse  road  to  damnation.     After  all's   said 

and    done,   if  you   drink   yourself  to    H to 

death,  there's  a  pub,  and  there's  company  at 
every  stage,  and  you  can  forget  there,  and  sleep, 
though  the  waking's  bad  and  every  stage  is 
worse  than  the  one  before  it.  But  there's  a  Bush 
track  to — to  the  grave,  missy,  without  even  a 
pub  on  it,  or  a  night's  sleep  or  a  day's  rest  to 
be  had  on  the  way.  And  the  man  that  starts 
down  that  road   doesn't  turn  back — no,  not  for 


an  angel  from  heaven." 


243 


DINKINBAR 

He  had  spoken  quietly  and  solemnly,  but 
resumed  his  caustic  manner  as  he  laid  aside  the 
shovel  and  said,  "  They  say  he  will,  though, 
for  a  woman  sometimes  ;  though  God  Almighty 
knows  I've  seen  a  many  go  and  never  a  one 
come  back.  However  " — he  added  viciously — 
"  these  things  aren't  for  the  fine  folks  at  home. 
And  I've  got  to  see  to  these  cows.  And  them 
that  hides  can  find." 

He  took  down  a  whip  from  the  wall  and  went 
slowly  to  the  door.  Susie  was  bending  lower 
than  before  above  her  interwoven  fingers.  As 
Dick  passed  her  to  go  out,  a  tear  fell  on  one 
of  her  blue-veined,  wasted  wrists.  He  came 
back  from  the  door  and  touched  her  hair  a  second 
time.  "  Stay,  missy,  stay,"  he  said,  and  hurried 
out. 


244 


CHAPTER   XVI 
A   Day's   Mustering 

THE  Dinkinbar  pasture  sped  with  astound- 
ing haste  through  the  stages  of  its  growth 
to  maturity  and  fruition.  Within  a  month  the 
green  expanse  was  dimmed  and  softened  by  a 
gauzy  purple  bloom  shed  by  the  nodding  seed- 
tassels  ;  in  two  months  the  purple  had  worn  to 
russet  as  the  silky  plumes  were  ripened  into  tough 
and  curly  wisps,  and  these  in  their  turn  were 
severed  and  shaken  out  by  the  wind  as  ripened 
seeds,  each  seed  pointed  like  a  wasp's  sting,  and 
barbed  or  screw-tailed  that  it  might  the  better 
pierce  and  grip  wheresoever  it  should  fall.  When 
the  seed  fell,  the  lush  and  vivid  greenness  of  the 
stalks  had  departed,  and  the  grass-tufts  were 
already  shot  with  autumn  gold. 

At  first  the  surfeit  of  rich  food  told  upon  the 
famished  cattle  in  a  heady  exhilaration.  They 
raced  about  in  the  intervals  of  their  feeding,  call- 
ing uncouthly  to  one  another  like  beggars  after  a 
banquet,  and  often  in  the  stillness  of  the  night 

245 


DINKINBAR 

there  would  break  up  suddenly  amid  the  distant 
ranees  a  weird,  huQ-e  clamour  like  the  bellow- 
ing  of  drunken  giants.  But  with  the  passing  of 
the  short-lived  spring  and  the  saddening  and 
strengthening  of  the  pasture  into  soberer  tints 
and  more  nourishing  and  enduring  texture  the 
spirits  of  the  herd  declined,  while  their  bodies 
throve  amazingly  into  the  normal  fat  contentment 
of  prosperity. 

On  a  day  little  more  than  three  months  after 
the  breaking  up  of  the  drought,  the  Dinkinbar 
homestead  was  astir  before  the  peep  of  day. 
Where  all  the  means  of  husbandry  are  wholly 
subject  to  the  naked  elements,  famine  and  plenty, 
want  and  wealth,  are  apt  to  follow  hard  on  one 
another's  heels.  Three  months  ago  the  weaklings 
of  the  Dinkinbar  herd  had  been  dying,  and  many 
even  of  the  stronger  ones  had  shown  their 
skeletons  like  symbols  of  starvation.  Then  the 
rain  had  fallen  on  the  rock-ribbed  earth,  the 
whole  procession  of  the  fruitful  seasons  had  gone 
by  at  the  gallop  ;  and  now  there  was  to  be  a 
mustering  round  the  homestead,  a  taking  tally  of 
gains  by  the  branding  of  clean-skin  calves,  and  a 
drafting  out  of  bullocks  for  the  market  —  a 
squatter's  harvesting. 

Already  before  the  daylight  Dick's  kitchen 
windows  had  glowed  like  beacons  in'  the   wide 

246 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

waste  of  darkness,  and  in  the  grey  dawn  there 
were  stirring  sounds  in  the  yards,  rushing  alarums 
of  many  hoofs,  a  jingling  of  bits  and  a  clang  of 
stirrup-irons,  a  chink  of  girth-buckles  and  a  clap- 
ping of  saddle-flaps,  steady  "  wo-hoas  "  from  the 
white  men,  and,  overtopping  all,  as  froth  simmers 
on  a  green  sea,  the  irresponsible,  ecstatic  gibber- 
ing of  Moltke  the  blackboy. 

Before  the  sun  had  cleared  the  tree-tops  the 
men  had  ridden  away  to  their  mustering,  and 
Susie  Thynne,  on  whom  the  convalescent's  privi- 
lege of  a  late  breakfasting  was  still  enforced, 
came  out  to  find  the  house  deserted  by  all  but 
herself  and  Mrs.  Heyrick.  The  two  women 
were  to  ride  out  later  to  the  cattle-camp,  three 
miles  from  the  homestead,  to  witness  the  crown 
and  climax  of  the  day's  mustering — that  finest 
achievement  in  peaceful  work-a-day  horseman- 
ship that  is  to  be  seen  in  the  world  to-day — the 
"  cutting-out "  or  drafting  of  cattle  in  the  open. 

It  was  the  first  time  since  her  illness  that  the 
girl  had  worn  her  riding-habit,  and  the  dress  that 
had  fitted  her  so  trimly  before  the  troubles  of  the 
drought-time  had  cast  their  shadows  over  her, 
now  sat  upon  her  loosely.  The  sounds  of  gleeful 
preparation  about  the  yards  and  of  the  subdued 
sportiveness  of  the  men  over  their  breakfast,  that 
had  come  to  mingle  with  the  girl's  early  morning 

247 


DINKINBAR 

lassitude,  had  served  only  to  point  her  isolation 
from  the  things  about  her — things  in  which,  since 
she  had  declared  for  a  return  to  England,  she 
was  never  more  to  share. 

Out  of  consideration  for  the  girl's  weakness, 
her  resolution  to  quit  the  Bush,  together  with 
other  matters,  reference  to  which  would  have 
been  painful  to  her,  had  been  passed  over  in 
silence.  Her  going  away  appeared  to  be  tacitly 
regarded  as  an  event  that  was  fixed,  but  as  yet 
undated  ;  and  thus,  upon  the  fresh  and  altered 
current  of  life  that  had  come  into  the  station  af- 
fairs with  the  rain,  she  was  cast  as  a  visitor  and 
aloof  where  she  had  been  before  an  eager  parti- 
cipant and  a  familiar.  Every  one  conspired,  in 
consideration  of  her  unspoken  sorrow  and  of  the 
traces  of  her  illness,  to  show  the  cheerfulness  that 
is  popularly  supposed  to  be  alone  adapted  to 
minister  to  the  bodily  and  spiritual  healing  of  the 
convalescent.  It  was  finely  considerate  in  inten- 
tion to  leave  it  to  the  girl  to  frame  her  wishes 
and  voice  her  perplexity  only  when  returning 
health  and  peace  of  mind  should  make  her  equal 
to  the  task.  But  the  habit  of  concealment,  like 
every  other  habit  that,  whether  owing  to  deter- 
mination or  the  want  of  it,  is  persevered  in, 
tended  towards  fixity,  and  thus  Susie's  return  to- 
wards her  lost  gaiety  grew  ever  more  laggardly. 

248 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

Even  Mrs.  Heyrick — although  in  her  every 
look,  and  in  her  unwonted  and  cheerful  insistence 
upon  a  bustling  over  trifles,  she  somehow  con- 
fessed herself  hungry  for  the  girl's  confidence — ■ 
joined  in  the  conspiracy  of  silence,  lest  Susie's 
return  to  health  should  be  retarded  by  any  un- 
toward reference  to  the  things  nearest  her  heart. 
Except  for  the  one  most  curious  and  unexpected 
outlet  for  her  growing  burden  of  anxiety  that 
had  offered  itself  in  the  person  of  the  dissolute 
and  ferociously  pessimistic  cook,  Susie,  up  to  the 
day  of  mustering,  that  was  to  give  her  lasting 
release,  had  been,  since  the  ending  of  the 
drought,  aloof  from  those  about  her  and  alone 
with  her  sorrow. 

It  was  after  mid- day  before  the  two  women 
mounted  their  horses — saddled  and  brought  round 
by  Dick — to  ride  to  the  cattle-camp.  It  was  the 
first  time  Susie  Thynne  had  been  on  horseback 
since  the  day  of  Noorna's  death,  and  although 
her  horse — a  venerable  grey,  called  Darwin  by 
reason  of  his  wisdom,  benevolence,  and  philo- 
sophic serenity  of  temper — was  the  most  sedate 
and  deliberate  of  his  kind,  the  very  sound  of  the 
bit  and  the  cringing  of  the  saddle,  the  moving 
strength  beneath  her  and  the  wide  earth  around, 
inclined  the  girl  to  a  hopefulness  she  had  not 
known  for  many  a  day. 

249 


DINKINBAR 

On  a  high  stockyard  rail  the  station  cat — ■ 
Weekie's  mother — was  dozing  and  sunning  her- 
self, and  on  the  ground  a  little  way  off  Weekie 
herself  was  making  furious  sorties  into  the  rustling 
grass  towards  every  point  of  the  compass  in  turn, 
from  an  imaginary  citadel  as  a  centre  of  her 
manoeuvres. 

Susie  left  the  beaten  track  and  looked  down 
among  the  grass  to  find  that  the  centre  of 
Weekie's  operations  was  represented  by  a 
weather-bleached,  discarded  felt  hat. 

The  women  rode  for  some  distance  without 
speaking. 

"  That  was  Ned's  old  hat,"  the  girl  said  at 
last  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  and  looking  at  her 
horse's  ears  ;  "  it's  strange  we  never  saw  it  before. 
I  knew  it  by  that  hole  in  the  crown,  shaped  like 
aZ." 

"  So  did  I." 

"  Where  has  he  gone,  Aunt  Martha  ?  Did 
you  follow  him  ?  have  you  heard  of  him  ?  will  he 
come  back  ? " 

"  I  think  not,  child.     We  know  nothing." 

The  girl  drew  a  deep  breath  and  looked  above 
her  at  the  open  sky  and  about  her  at  the  gold- 
brown  sea  of  pasturage,  and  the  timbered  capes 
and  hills  that  broke  and  bounded  it. 

"  It's  all  so  big,  and  we're  so  little  and  help- 

250 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

less,"  she  said  at  last,  in  the  same  level  voice. 
"  There  seemed  so  much  that  I  had  to  tell,  and 
now,  when  I  speak,  there's  nothing.  Tell  me, 
what  is  it,  Aunt  Martha  ?     What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Do  whatever's  for  your  happiness,  Susie." 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "  You  used  to  com- 
fort me,"  she  said  abstractedly ;  "  how  is  it  you 
cannot  now  ?  I  want  to  tell  you  I'm  wicked,  and 
sorry  for  the  way  I've  used  you,  and  now  when  I 
start  there's  nothing  at  all  to  say,  and  I'm  all  cold 
inside.      I  think  you  want  me  to  go." 

"Sue,  Sue!"  Mrs.  Heyrick  said  gently; — "if 
I  dared  tell  you  what  I  wish." 

"  You  see  ? "  the  girl  answered  lightly,  turning 
to  her  aunt  while  she  helplessly  shook  her  head, 
holding  the  tip  of  her  tongue  between  her  small 
teeth.  "  I  ought  to  bite  it  out.  Blucher  looks 
at  me  the  way  you  look  now,  and  understands 
as  you  do;  but  what's  the  use  of  talking?  I've 
pulled  your  house  down  about  your  ears,  aunty, 
and  I'm  trying  to  run  away  and  leave  you  amongst 
the  ruins." 

"  Hush,  dearie  ;  it's  a  better  place  than  when 
you  came,  but  for  the  one  thing ;  and  the  blame 
for  that  is  mine  and  your  uncle's,  if  it's  anyone's." 

As  on  the  occasion  of  her  curious  exchange  of 
sympathy  with  Dick,  Susie,  now  that  her  silence 
had  been  again  so  strangely  broken,  plunged  into 

251 


DINKINBAR 

an  eager  recital  of  her  uncommitted  sins.  Aunt 
Martha  soothingly  demolished  the  girl's  vehement 
self-chargings  one  by  one  ;  and  by  this  round- 
about process  the  two  women  to  some  extent  re- 
paired their  broken  intimacy.  Once  again,  and 
this  time  more  authoritatively,  it  was  brought 
home  to  Susie  that,  although  the  affairs  of  Dinkin- 
bar  had  lain  for  months  in  a  welter  of  tragic  mis- 
understanding, yet  it  was  not  after  all  so  manifest 
to  others,  as  she  had  somehow  persuaded  herself 
was  the  case,  that  she  was  wholly,  or  even  mainly, 
the  unwilling  cause  of  the  trouble.  Rather,  in 
her  obstinate  blindness,  she  had  been  working  for 
good  in  some  mysterious  way. 

Uncle  Joseph's  wrath  at  Creswell's  adroitness 
had,  it  appeared,  been  smothered,  and  even  turned 
to  kindness  because  Susie  had  been  so  ill  when 
the  news  of  the  loss  of  Meadow  Flat  had  arrived. 
Mr.  Heyrick,  moreover,  after  gruffly  acknowledg- 
ing to  his  wife  that  the  calamity  "  maybe  served 
him  right,"  had,  on  the  night  of  the  rain,  after  he 
had  heard  that  Susie's  life  was  to  be  spared,  seemed 
to  repent  of  his  hard  bargain  with  the  new-chums, 
and  had  given  them  all  their  liberty,  with  the 
result  that  Creswell  had  gone  to  assume  the 
ownership  of  Meadow  Flat,  while  the  other  three 
had  halted  and  turned  back  upon  their  several 
undesirable  ways.      And  all  this — the  softening 

252 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

of  the  hard-bitten  old  squatter,  Hulbert's  salvation 
from  impending  hatterdom,  Finlay's  vigorous 
and  regular  ablutions,  and  Aplin's  restoration  to 
comparative  respectability — Mrs.  Heyrick  on  a 
sudden,  rather  ramblingly,  but  with  cheerful 
volubility,  ascribed  to  some  subtle  influence 
radiated  by  the  unconscious  and  self-tormenting 
Susie. 

They  had  ridden  slowly.  When  Mrs.  Hey- 
rick's  curious  discourse  came  to  an  end,  Susie 
pulled  up  her  horse. 

"  It's  quite  absurd,  Aunt  Martha,"  she  said, 
almost  severely.  "  You've  only  just  thought  of  all 
this — made  it  up  as  you  went  along." 

Aunt  Martha  broke  out  afresh,  apologetically 
this  time,  and  with  her  motherly  quaver — "  It's 
been  like  the  breath  in  my  body,  Susie,  for  weeks, 
and  I  daren't  speak  of  it.  *  Let  the  girl  go  her 
way,'  your  uncle  said  ;  '  she's  come  our  way  to 
her  sorrow.  Say  nothing  till  she  asks  you.'  I'd 
have  let  you  go  without  a  word,  my  dearie." 

The  horses  pricked  up  their  ears  and  raised 
their  heads  like  chargers  scenting  battle  ;  a  faint 
sound  of  tumult  came  down  the  wind.  "  It's  from 
the  cattle-camp,"  Mrs.  Heyrick  said.  "  Come, 
they'll  be  expecting  us." 

When  the  two  women  reached  the  cattle-camp, 
the  work  of  cutting-out  was   well    forward,  and 

253 


DINKINBAR 

they  drew  up  in  the  shade  to  watch  it.  Round 
and  beneath  a  clump  of  ironbarks  in  the  middle 
of  a  plain  perhaps  a  mile  across,  over  a  thousand 
cattle — gathered  in  from  an  area  as  big  as  that  of 
London — were  being  loosely  held  together  by 
mounted  men.  The  tamer  part  of  the  business 
was  already  done,  for  about  fifty  cows  with  their 
unbranded  calves  had  been  drafted  and  were  be- 
ing herded  in  a  corner  of  the  plain  by  Finlay. 
Down  by  the  creek,  Hulbert  and  Jim  Baxter 
were  getting  ready  for  the  livelier  work  of  getting 
out  the  bullocks,  by  saddling  up  the  two  camp- 
horses  that  had  been  kept  fit  and  fresh  for  this 
most  momentous  of  all  the  duties  of  a  cattle- 
station. 

It  is  the  pride  of  every  cattle-run  worth  a  rap 
that  it  owns  the  best  camp-horse  in  Australia. 
Dinkinbar  owned  two  such,  in  the  chestnut  and 
the  brown  that  were  being  saddled  now.  Your 
camp-horse  is  the  Raleigh  of  his  kind — warrior 
and  thinker  in  one — he  wastes  none  of  his  sub- 
stance on  any  of  the  unessential  things  that  fret 
his  lesser  brethren.  He  must  have  the  dash  and 
fire  that  comes  of  high  ancestry,  and  yet  he  needs 
a  yeoman  doggedness  ;  he  must  be  as  tractable 
as  water,  but  of  oaken  stubbornness  to  endure ; 
and,  at  the  back  of  all  this  rare  compound  of 
estimable  qualities,  he  must  have  that  still  rarer 

254 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

virtue,  a  brain  at  once  large,  liberal,  and  alert, 
kindly  and  cultivable — an  equine  equivalent  of  the 
human  intellect  that  is  big  but  not  unwieldy, 
being  quickened  with  courage  and  salted  with  the 
imperishable  salt  of  humour. 

The  brown  that  Hulbert  was  saddling  showed 
in  every  point  this  needful  working  compromise 
between  the  aristocrat  and  the  plebeian.  His  ears 
were  fine,  but  a  little  furry  ;  he  was  broad-browed 
and  hairy-jawed,  but  there  were  slumbering  fires 
behind  the  bucolic  peacefulness  of  his  eyes  ;  he 
was  ribbed  like  a  barrel,  but  coupled  and 
quartered  like  a  racer  ;  his  coat  was  rough,  but 
there  was  a  silky  sheen  in  it ;  the  legs  were 
shaggy  and  short-pasterned  like  a  farmer's  cob, 
but  they  were  modelled  like  a  thoroughbred's,  and 
stood  wide  apart  on  small  neat  hoofs  as  sound  as 
gun-metal.  As  he  felt  the  girths  tighten  on  his 
ribs,  he  turned  and  nuzzled  at  the  slack  of  Hul- 
bert's  shirt,  then  set  up  his  head,  and  eyed  the 
bellowing  mob. 

Mr.  Heyrick  on  his  venerable  cob  looked,  and 
truly  was,  like  a  field-officer  leading  one  small 
troop  of  disciplined  horsemen  against  a  rabble  of 
barbarians.  He  had  learned,  through  the  fio^ht- 
ing  of  many  campaigns  such  as  this,  the  wisdom 
of  steadiness  and  a  saving  of  the  strength  of  man 
and  horse  till  the  time  was  ripe  and  the  rush  in- 

255 


DINKINBAR 

evitable ;  but  when  the  charge  was  given,  it  was 
to  be  sent  home,  no  matter  at  what  cost  of  thong 
and  spur.  On  the  Dinkinbar  cattle-camp  every 
man  was  given  his  place,  and  kept  it. 

The  two  men  chosen  for  the  honours  of  cutting- 
out  pushed  their  horses  in  turn  into  the  thick  of 
the  mob,  chose  out  a  bullock,  and  edged  him 
gently  outward.  Several  had  been  thus  sent  off 
with  little  trouble  to  join  the  cows  and  calves, 
when  Hulbert  fixed  upon  one  of  sterner  stuff,  a 
hard-skinned  yellow  beast,  limbed  like  a  stag,  a 
noted  rebel  and  racer  of  the  cattle-camps.  The 
brown  horse's  eye  seemed  to  deepen  in  response 
to  a  challenge  as  the  yellow  bullock  set  his  ears 
and  flung  out  his  tail  when  he  found  himself 
marked  for  the  operation.  He  came  readily  enough 
to  the  fringe  of  the  mob,  but  no  sooner  was  he  in 
the  open  than  he  wheeled  and  stretched  himself 
out  in  a  gallop  to  outrace  the  horse  and  double 
back  into  the  thick  of  the  cattle.  But  the  horse's 
wide  nostril  and  sunken  eye  were  level  with  the 
beast's  shoulder,  and  on  the  inside.  The  bullock 
raced  half  round  the  camp,  then  he  planted  his 
stiffened  forelegs,  bunched  himself  together  as  if 
he  had  met  an  invisible  wall,  faced  about  within 
his  own  length,  and  the  next  instant  was  racing 
back  the  way  he  had  come,  but  faster.  The 
camp-horse   was    ready ;      he    stopped'  with    the 

256 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

bullock,  but  wheeled  the  quicker  by  a  trifle.  When 
the  return  journey  was  begun,  the  bullock  was 
going  on  a  wider  curve,  with  the  horse's  muzzle 
level  with  the  sharp  horns  now,  and  crowding  the 
yellow  rebel  steadily  outward.  The  shock  of  the 
bringing  up  of  horse  and  man  and  the  wrench  of 
the  sudden  wheeling  seemed  more  than  saddle 
and  sinew  could  bear ;  but  when  it  was  over 
Hulbert  was  saddlefast  and  sitting  lightly.  Mrs. 
Heyrick  moaned,  overcome  with  her  dread  of 
danger  ;  but  Susie  looked  at  the  rousing  sight 
with  closed  lips  and  dancing  eyes.  Six  times  the 
horse  and  the  bullock  thundered  past  her,  and 
six  times  there  was  the  sudden  shock  and  swing, 
and  the  lightning  change  of  front.  At  last,  bul- 
lock, horse,  and  man  tore  in  a  final  charge  past 
the  tree  where  the  women  were.  The  beast 
was  going  with  a  heavy  beaten  stride  by  now,  but 
the  horse's  lowering  eye  and  open  scarlet  nostril 
were  steady  and  sure  at  the  right  strategic  point 
on  the  inside.  As  they  came  up  level  with  the 
women,  the  three  were  faced  for  the  drafted  mob  ; 
then  Hulbert  unslung  his  whip,  widened  his  dis- 
tance from  the  yellow  beast  and  drew  back  to 
the  flank,  the  whip  sang  above  his  head,  and  the 
cracker  burst  again  and  again  on  the  straining 
yellow  flanks.  It  was  the  winning  stroke ;  it 
seemed  to  cut  the  last  of  the  invisible  obstinate 

257  s 


DINKINBAR 

ties  that  held  the  bullock  to  the  main  mob,  and  to 
leave  him  loose  and  conquered,  to  swing  off  at  a 
free  tangent.  He  went  away  at  a  high-stepping 
trot,  making  a  show  of  carrying  off  the  honours  of 
war  in  the  defiant  set  of  his  ears  and  his  arched 
and  flying  tail. 

The  furious  passage  and  re-passage  of  horse, 
man,  and  beast  round  and  round  the  mob  had 
set  it  in  commotion,  and  it  was  surging  outward 
at  many  points,  and  threatening  to  break  away 
from  the  horsemen.  The  cutting-out  was  sus- 
pended,  and  Mr.  Heyrick  called  up  his  reserves 
by  roaring  to  his  wife  to  come  and  help. 

"  This  is  like  old  times,"  she  said,  as  she  took 
a  short  grip  of  the  reins  and  cantered  away, 
entirely  absorbed  by  the  rousing  confusion  of  the 
camp.  Even  Darwin,  who  had  been  dozing 
peacefully,  woke  up  and  made  a  perfunctory  show 
of  joining  in  the  bustle. 

Susie  held  back  the  old  grey  horse,  however, 
and  turned  him  from  the  camp  and  towards  the 
creek.  Her  now  customary  listlessness  had  re- 
turned poignantly  and  suddenly  upon  her  after 
the  last  meteoric  passing  of  Hulbert,  though  she 
had  watched  him,  as  he  thundered  triumphantly 
by,  with  a  preoccupied  and  vivid  interest. 

She  withdrew  slowly  along  the  creek  bank, 
staring   at   the   ground    with    an    open-eyed    but 

258 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

inward  look,  and  she  was  unreasonably  dismayed 
on  looking  up — when  Darwin,  after  nickering  in  a 
neighbourly  way,  had  stopped  of  his  own  accord 
— to  find  that  she  was  the  object  of  keen  but 
entirely  respectful  scrutiny  on  the  part  of  an 
elderly  stranger,  a  horseman  with  a  wizened  and 
shrewd  but  peculiarly  peaceful  and  kindly  face. 
Darwin  and  the  stranger's  horse — a  mild-eyed, 
contented  old  cob — were  exchanging  civilities  by 
sniffing  at  each  other's  noses. 

"  Who  are  you  ? ,:  Susie  said  with  a  startled 
vehemence  absurdly  discordant  with  the  tameness 
of  the  situation.  "  Did  you  want  to  see  my 
unc — Mr.  Heyrick  ?  ,:  she  added  with  apologetic 
haste. 

"  Well,  I  did,  and  I  didn't,"  the  stranger  said 
in  a  piping,  tired  voice ;  "  but  I'd  sooner  disturb  a 
man  at  his  prayers  than  on  the  cattle-camp." 

The  work  of  cutting-out  was  again  in  full 
swing,  and  the  elderly  stranger's  face  lighted  up 
with  a  benignant  enthusiasm  as  he  watched  it. 
His  business,  he  said,  could  wait ;  he  had  been  in 
the  act  of  unsaddling  for  dinner,  close  at  hand, 
when  the  noise  of  the  camp  had  reached  his  ears, 
and  had  drawn  him  to  it  like  the  sound  of  music. 

There  was  a  quiet  friendliness  and  a  patent 
sincerity  about  the  stranger  that  was  peculiarly 
grateful   to    the    girl    at  that    moment.        When 

259 


DINKINBAR 

the  old  man  informed  her  in  a  fatherly  way 
that  she  looked  tired,  and  prescribed  rest  and  a 
share  of  his  tea,  it  seemed  to  Susie  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world,  and  she  submitted  to 
be  led  away  without  any  misgiving.  He  helped 
her  down,  unhitched  the  packhorse  that  he  had 
left  tied  to  a  tree  by  the  creek,  and  in  a  few 
moments  had  unpacked  it,  and  had  contrived  an 
impromptu  armchair  for  her  out  of  the  pack- 
saddle  and  his  folded  tent.  Susie  tucked  herself 
into  it,  and  was  aware  of  a  simmer  of  enjoyment 
as  she  watched  the  old  man  extract  from  his 
rough  but  faultlessly  neat  belongings  his  ration- 
bags  and  billy.  As  he  went  about  filling  the 
latter,  making  a  fire,  and  putting  on  water  to 
boil,  he  discoursed  about  himself  in  a  casual  way, 
and  so  quietly  and  restfully  that  every  shadow 
of  doubt  as  to  the  good  faith  of  her  new  acquain- 
tance was  driven  from  the  girl's  mind. 

The  old  man's  voice,  indeed,  was  pitched  so 
truly  in  the  right  key  to  dispose  the  girl  to  peace- 
fulness  that,  when  he  went  down  to  the  water's 
edge  to  wash  and  scrub  his  spare  pannikin, 
although  he  spoke  somewhat  louder,  his  voice 
began  to  mingle  strangely  in  the  girl's  ears  with 
the  muttering  of  the  running  water  near  at  hand, 
and  her  eyes  closed  quietly  for  a  while.  The  old 
man  looked  slowly  round  at  her,  and  seemed  to 

260 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

take  all  dumb  nature  about  him  into  his  confi- 
dence in  a  single  comprehensive  wink.  When 
she  opened  her  eyes  again,  he  was  standing  over 
the  fire  with  his  hand  in  the  tea-bag,  waiting  for 
the  water  to  boil,  and  was  silent ;  but  with  a 
demure  side  glance  at  her  opened  eyes  he  resumed 
his  peaceful  discourse. 

"  Five  year,  off  and  on,  I  followed  the  gold,  and 
it  was  always  the  claim  next  to  mine  that  struck 
it,  and  I  watched  my  old  mates  make  their  piles 
and  go  all  roads  from  the  diggin's,  from  owning 
villas  and  flunkeys  in  Toorak  and  seats  in  Parlia- 
ment, to  dyin'  of  drink  in  opium  dens  or  dry 
gullies,  and  every  man  of  'em,  by  Jimmy,  full  of  a 
rao-in  discontent.  I  was  broke  on  the  Shotover 
— that's  in  New  Zealand — and  of  the  three  of  us 
mates  there,  one  perished  in  the  snowy  ranges, 
and  the  other's  '  doing  time,'  as  I  call  it,  in  the 
ministry  of  this  blessed  country  to-day,  and,  by 
Crumbs,  here  am  I,  old  Jerry  Walker,  goin'  to 
make  the  tea  for  me  and  you."  He  made  it  with 
reverent  care,  stirred  it  with  a  stick,  and  put  away 
the  tea-bag  in  its  own  corner  of  the  pack. 

11  I  took  to  shepherding  in  rangy,  starvation 
country  in  New  South  Wales,  and  one  day  a 
bandicoot,  makin'  a  start  to  scamper  from  me, 
sent  a  loose  stone  hopping  to  my  very  feet.  I 
picked  it  up  ;  it  was  like  a  clinker,  and  heavy,  and 

261 


DINKINBAR 

sort  of  rich-looking-.  '  Silver,  may  be,  Jerry,'  I 
says  to  myself,  and  pockets  it.  But  when  I  comes 
to  camp,  there  was  a  big  gohanna-lizard,  like  a 
young  alligator,  by  Jimmy,  fossikin'  among  my 
rations,  and,  says  I,  '  Silver  be — be  jiggered  ; 
you're  not  born  to  be  rich,  Jerry,'  and  I  lets  fly 
with  the  clinker  at  the  gohanna's  head  ;  and 
more  betoken  I  hit  him,  too,  and  finished  him  with 
a  stick,  and  baked  his  tail  for  supper  ;  and  there  " 
— touching  an  ancient  belt  that  he  wore — "  is  his 
skin. 

"  Well,  ten  year  in  and  out  I  broke,  with  the 
help  of  these  two  hands  and  this  old  sun-dried 
head,  all  the  twelve  commandments  except  the 
one  about  murder,  and  I  only  stopped  short  of 
that  because  the  wife  I'd  married  saved  me  the 
trouble  by  shifting  into  another  man's  camp, 
That  was  a  black  night,  miss,  and  I — I  was 
upset,  by  Jimmy  I  was.  But  I  found  better 
company  amongst  the  birds  and  beasts  and  the 
stars  of  a  night.  I'd  done  with  men  from  that, 
and  women — and  towns.  I  took  to  droving,  and 
I  piled  up  enough,  bit  by  bit,  to  start  a  run  of  my 
own,  in  the  outside  parts,  out  there  " — he  pointed 
to  the  north. 

By  this  time  he  had  set  a  pannikin  of  tea 
beside  the  girl,  with  neatly  cut  slices  of.  damper. 
"  One  night  on  the  roads,"  he  continued,  "  when 

262 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

I  was  waiting  to  go  on  the  morning  watch,  I  read 
in  a  newspaper  that  they  had  found  the  biggest 
silver  mines  in  the  world  at  a  place  called  Broken 
Hill,  in  New  South  Wales.  The  clinker  that 
the  bandicoot  kicked  at  me  and  that  I  shied 
at  the  gohanna,  that  was  from  the  cap  of  the 
biggest  of  the  lodes.  I  was  upset  that  time  too, 
miss — by  Jimmy  I  was.  I  looked  above  me, 
and,  by  Crumbs,  but  the  stars  were  driving 
across  the  sky  like  sparks  from  a  fire — they  were 
that.  But  the  stars  were  steady  again  when 
I  went  on  watch.  From  that  time  I  was  the 
contentedest  man  in  Australia.  It  was  the  kind 
of  thing,  you  see,  coming  up  out  of  a  man's  past 
to  show  him  what  he's  lost.  If  he's  done  with 
the  things  that  people  break  their  hearts  over, 
it  fixes  him  safe  in  his  own  ways ;  if  he  hasn't, 
it  sours  him,  or  sends  him  back  again  to  drive 
along  with  the  rest,  or  maybe  it  kills  him." 

Susie  had  settled  down  to  listen  with  a  curious 
intentness,  and  was  holding  her  empty  pannikin 
between  her  finger-tips,  with  her  elbows  resting 
on  her  pack-saddle.  As  the  old  man  turned 
to  her  quickly  after  the  last  words,  she  held  the 
pannikin  out  to  him  for  more  tea. 

"  There's  things  worse  to  lose  than  gold  or 
silver,  young  lady,"  he  said  slowly,  as  he  returned 
the    re-filled    tin   to  her.      "  When    I   was    ready 

263 


DINKINBAR 

to  start  my  bit  of  a  cattle-station  out  there,  I 
wanted  a  mate  that  was  like  to  be  contenteder 
in  the  Bush  than  anywhere  within  cooee  of  the 
towns  and  the  telegraph  wire,  somebody  that 
would  cover  my  bones  from  the  dingoes  if  I  died 
first.  And  I  found  him,  or  he  found  me.  I'd 
seen  him  once,  only  once,  and  told  him  to  track 
me  up  and  find  me  about  the  long  cattle-roads 
somewhere,  or  out  clear  of  the  telegraph  posts, 
when  he  had  got  done  with  this  hurry-scurry 
business,  as  he  surely  would.  I  saw  it  in  him. 
He  came — he  rode  into  my  camp  in  the  dead 
of  night,  when  I  was  nosin'  my  little  mob  of 
heifers  up  and  out  to  make  my  last  start. 

"  Mind  you  don't  spill  that  tea,  miss.  Such 
a  mate  as  he  is  !  I  left  him  splittin'  slabs  for  the 
house  we're  to  build.  But  look  there  now,  if  ever 
I  was  to  growl  about  anything  in  this  world 
again,  I'd  growl  at  this — by  Jimmy  I  would. 
Here's  the  Lord  sends  me  all  I  want  in  my  old 
age — a  man  for  a  mate — and  here's  the  Lord 
means  to  take  him  away  again.  It's  me  that 
is  to  bury  his  bones,  unless  I  can  bring  the 
medicine  he  wants.  Look  there  now,  but  you're 
shaking,  my  girl !  We'll  talk  about  something 
else.  By  Jimmy,  now,  but  that  young  fellow 
on  the  brown  camp-horse  is  a  clinkin'  rider." 

"  Go  on,"  the  girl  said  steadily  ;  "  I  shan't  spill 

264 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

my  tea.  What  is  the  matter  with  your  friend  ? 
Your  story  is  very  interesting.  It's  not  that  that 
disturbs  me ;  I'm  a  little  weak,  that's  all.  I've 
been  ill." 

"  Ah  !  look  there  now  !  Well,  my  mate's  like 
me.  He's  lost  his  silver  mine  too,  and  I'm 
travelling  down-country  to  find  it  and  dig  it  up 
and  fetch  it  to  him — in  a  manner  of  speaking, 
of  course.  He  can't  forget  his  loss  as  I  forgot 
mine — see  ?  " 

Susie  choked  down  one  of  her  dangerous 
laughs.  "  Do  you  think  you'll  find  it,  and  will 
it  make  him  happy  when  you  bring  it  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man  with  a  slow  smile, 
"  maybe,  maybe  not.  I'm  bad  at  this  skirmishing 
kind  of  talk.  A  silver  mine — this  kind  of  silver 
mine — in  a  manner  of  speaking,  may  be  in  the 
side  of  a  hill,  or  it  may  walk  on  two  feet,  or  ride 
o'  horseback,  the  way  some  cove  in  the  Scriptures 
went  to  a  mountain  because  the  mountain 
wouldn't  come  to  him  when  he  whistled  for  it." 
The  stranger  beamed  with  innocent  pride  in  his 
imagery. 

Susie  put  a  hand  to  her  throat,  for  the  wild 
laughter  had  nearly  overcome  her. 

"  Something  has  laid  hold  of  this  mate  of  mine, 
here — "  he  spread  out  a  hand  vaguely  on  his  chest 
— "deep  down  inside  of  him.     There's  no  doctor's 

265 


DINKINBAR 

stuff  to  touch  that.  Steady  with  the  tea  now. 
Shall  I  go  on  ?  " 

"  Go  on." 

"  Well,  see  now.  If  a  man's  bushed  in  this 
country,  and  stops  still,  he  dies  in  his  tracks  ;  the 
crows  and  kites  get  him.  Similar,  if  he  turns 
his  face  away  from  his  kind  and  colour,  he  must 
go  on  or  turn  back,  or  rot  where  he  stands.  He 
can  go  on  and  be  a  hatter  or  a  combo,  which 
either  of  them  is — saving  your  presence — Hell. 
Or  he  may  stick  at  the  cross-tracks  and  rot,  lie 
there  and  watch  himself  rot,  mind  you,  which 
is  worse,  by  Jimmy  it  is.  That's  what  my  mate's 
doing.  Well,  let  him  turn  back,  says  you.  Ay, 
but  it's  a  steep  gullyside  that — steep,  by  Crumbs 
it  is  !  No  man  works  back  up  that  hill  alone  ; 
there  must  be  a  hand  held  out  to  him.  A 
woman  s  hand — a  woman  of  his  own " 

"Then    he's    a — a — he's "  the    girl    broke 

in  passionately,  but  the  words  died  on  her  lips. 
She  was  as  pale  as  chalk,  and  trembled  piti- 
ably. 

"  See  now,"  the  old  man  said  quietly,  "  the 
words,  the  wrong  ones,  won't  come  to  your 
lips,  bless  you.  He's Hark  !  They're  call- 
ing you." 

Above  the  turmoil  of  the  cattle-camp  rose  the 
voice  of  Mrs.  Heyrick  calling  wildly  for  Susie. 

266 


A    DAY'S    MUSTERING 

"Quick!"  she  said,  sitting  upright;  "he's 
who,  he's  what  ?  " 

"  He's  Ned  Singleton." 

The  old  man  sent  a  cooee  in  answer  to  Mrs. 
Heyrick's  distracted  cries  ;  then  he  busied  him- 
self quietly  about  Susie,  who  had  subsided  gently 
in  a  faint,  swaying  across  the  pack-saddle.  A 
brown  stain  was  spread  over  the  grey  habit, 
for  the  pannikin  of  tea  had  slipped  from  her 
hand. 


267 


CHAPTER   XVII 
Martyrs    of   Empire 

TWO  men,  having  breakfasted,  were  making 
ready  for  their  day's  work.  One,  sitting 
on  a  log,  was  putting  a  fine  edge  to  his  axe  with 
a  whetstone,  the  other  was  tightening  the  sur- 
cingle round  a  loaded  pack-horse. 

The  younger  man  laid  down  his  whetstone  and 
watched  the  elder,  as  he  stood  behind  the  horse's 
tail  and  shut  one  eye  to  observe  if  the  pack  were 
nicely  poised  and  firm,  before  tightening  up  the 
surcingle  to  the  last  hole. 

"Jerry,"    the    younger   man   said    in   a    level, 

hollow  voice,  "  I  wish  to  the  Lord  I  hadn't  told 

|  you  a  word.      You'll  not  go  near  Dinkinbar,  or 

so  much  as  mention  my  name  to  a  living  soul  ? 

So  help  you  God  ?  " 

The  elder  man  looked  round  with  transparent 
sincerity  in  every  feature.  "  Look  here,  Ned, 
me  lad,  are  we  two  mates,  or  ain't  we?"  He 
pointed  to  the  pack-horse  and  to  another  that 
stood  saddled  near  by.     "  Take  the  horses  and 

268 


MARTYRS    OF    EMPIRE 

go  yourself  if  you  think  I'm  going  back  on  my 
word." 

"  You  know  I  won't,  and  I  know  I'm  a  pig. 
But  you  seem  to  have  got  some  notion  about 
me.  I'm  all  right,  I  tell  you.  I'll  have  every 
stick  of  timber  for  the  house  split  and  trimmed 
before  you  come  back.  And  you'll  go  straight 
to  the  Lands  Office  and  fix  up  the  lease  of  the 
run,  and  order  the  things,  and — and  hurry  back, 
won't  you,  Jerry  ?     So  help  you  God  ?  " 

"  So  help  me  Jimmy."  The  elder  man  was 
again  entirely  absorbed  in  the  fixing  of  the  pack. 
The  younger  rose  somewhat  wearily  and  yawned 
and  stretched  himself  as  though  a  day's  work 
were  done  instead  of  beginning.  Then  he  took 
up  a  filled  water-bag  and  shouldered  his  axe. 
The  other  led  up  the  saddled  horse  and  mounted, 
and  the  two  looked  one  another  carefully  over. 

11  Well,  take  care  of  yourself,  me  lad,"  said  the 
elder  cheerfully.  "  I  dessay  I'll  be  back  in  a 
month,"  and  he  rode  away  without  once  turning 
his  head. 

The  younger  said  "  So  long,"  and  began  to 
climb  slowly  up  a  steep  ridge  that  rose  behind 
the  camp.  A  shaggy,  blue-grey  dog  that  was 
crouched  by  the  smouldering  camp-fire  sat  up 
and  watched  the  men  as  they  withdrew.  After 
apparently  weighing  inclination  against  duty,  and 

269 


DINKINBAR 

deciding  for  the   latter,   he  slowly  followed    the 
axeman  up  the  hill. 

It  was  a  true  frontiersman's  camp  that  the 
two  men  turned  away  from.  One  could  see  it 
had  come  to  stay,  for  the  tent  supports  were  of 
heavy  saplings.  There  was  a  table  formed  of 
a  single  sheet  of  bark,  with  a  rail  on  either  side 
for  seats,  under  a  bough  shelter  ;  another  rail, 
with  wire  pot-hooks  hanging  from  it,  was  set  up 
across  the  fire,  and  already  from  the  camp  to  the 
creek  there  was  a  trodden  path.  The  camp  was 
chosen,  too,  with  an  eye  to  future  developments. 
It  was  pitched  upon  a  level  plateau  that  gave 
ample  space  for  a  score  of  buildings  as  large  as 
the  one  of  which  an  outline  was  already  worked  out 
in  ground  plan  by  pegs,  and  high  enough  above 
the  running  creek  to  set  it  beyond  the  reach  of 
flood. 

Across  the  stream  was  a  wide,  scantily-timbered 
stretch  of  park-land  sloping  gently  upward  to- 
wards wooded  ridges  that  rose  one  beyond  the 
other,  deepening  with  the  distance  into  line  upon 
line  of  airy  and  airier  blue  that  tempted  the  sight 
to  measurement  of  vastness.  Horses,  free  or  in 
hobbles,  strolled  and  shuffled  about  knee-deep  in 
the  gold-brown  pasture,  or  stood  dozing  in  the 
shade  in  pairs,  head  to  tail,  so  that  each  might 
switch  the  flies  from  the  other's  face.     The  pas- 

270 


MARTYRS    OF    EMPIRE 

turage,  too,  was  speckled  in  the  distance  with 
bright-skinned  young  cattle,  the  nucleus  of  a 
herd. 

It  was  as  peaceful  an  invasion  of  new  territory 
in  the  name  of  industry  as  could  be  ;  and  the  wise 
men  who,  with  no  intention  of  making  the  experi- 
ment in  person,  exhort  the  younger  generation  to 
rid  themselves  of  this  palsy  of  aimless  striving 
that  is  the  sickness  of  our  time  by  a  return  to 
Nature  and  a  patriarchal  simplicity,  would  have 
pointed  out  as  warrant  of  their  exhortation  these 
two  pioneers  and  their  bloodless  conquest  of  this 
Arcadia. 

Ned  Singleton  made  his  way  slowly,  axe  on 
shoulder  and  dog  at  heel,  to  the  top  of  the  ridge 
that  rose  behind  the  camp  on  the  slope.  The  air 
was  sweetened  by  the  breath  of  the  scented  gums, 
and  the  summit  was  pillared  by  the  ash-grey 
boles,  as  straight  as  gun-barrels,  of  a  multitude  of 
pines,  and  plumed  by  their  feathery,  dusky  tops. 
Here  and  there  a  tree  had  been  already  felled, 
and  lay  full  length  upon  the  ground,  bleeding 
amber-coloured  tears  at  the  butt  and  from  the 
severed  stump,  and  with  a  raffle  of  lopped  branches 
about  its  head.  Up  here  the  air  was  full  of  a 
sunny  fragrance  that  was  at  once  vivid  with  a 
resinous  tang  and  sad  with  a  peculiar  haunting 
sweetness  from  the   dead   branches,  a  sweetness 

271 


DINKINBAR 

that  bespoke  the  active  fermentation  which  is  the 
first  token  of  decay. 

The  axeman  chose  a  tree  already  marked  for 
sacrifice,  made  a  rough  calculation  as  to  how  the 
disposal  of  the  limbs  inclined  it  to  fall,  and 
went  to  work  accordingly  by  swinging  the  axe 
wide  and  free,  and  burying  its  head  with  a  down- 
ward cut  and  a  resounding  thud  deep  in  the 
weathered  bark.  The  second  blow,  a  horizontal 
one,  sent  the  loosened  chip  spinning  in  the  air,  and 
showed  in  the  cut  a  crescent  of  the  clean  naked 
wood.  A  few  more  downward  strokes  bared  a 
wider  segment  of  the  wood,  and  two  cross-cuts 
cleaned  out  the  growing  wound.  Soon  the  juicy 
sap-wood  was  bitten  through,  and  twenty  tender 
curves,  the  patient  records  of  twenty  seasons' 
growth,  were  showing  in  the  stump.  When  the 
gap  had  grown  till  a  third  of  the  tree  was  cut 
through,  the  axeman,  shifting  his  grip  on  the 
handle,  but  not  his  position,  fell  to  work  upon  the 
other  side,  and  when  the  cuts  were  even  he  began 
more  cautiously  to  deepen  them  and  to  trim  away 
the  corners  until  a  whispering  about  the  bared 
heart-strings  of  the  tree  warned  him  to  be  wary. 
The  trunk  had  sagged  a  hairsbreadth  from  the 
perpendicular,  and  there  it  halted,  as  if  braced  for 
a  last  look  round  amongst  its  living  mates.  One 
blow  on  the  central  straining  rib,  a  mighty  crack, 

272 


MARTYRS    OF    EMPIRE 

a  rending  groan,  and  the  tall  column  and  its  huge 
framework  of  branches  and  foliage  toppled  and 
swayed,  gathering  speed  in  its  descent  till  the  air 
sang  amongst  the  boughs  for  the  last  time,  and 
the  tree  fell  with  a  crash  that  shook  the  solid  hill 
and  tore  the  limbs  from  their  sockets  where  they 
met  the  ground. 

Up  till  now,  since  leaving  the  camp,  this  man, 
stalwart,  capable,  firm-knit  and  silent,  might  have 
stood  for  a  pattern  of  the  pioneer,  and  the  wise 
persons  aforesaid — who  supplement  their  incomes 
by  a  reviling  of  the  intricacies  of  an  enlightenment 
that  is  as  the  breath  of  their  nostrils — would  have 
gathered  about  him,  if  they  had  chanced  to  find 
him  at  his  tree-felling,  to  sing  anthems  in  praise 
of  the  simple  happiness  of  his  lot  and  of  their  own 
astuteness  in  aiding  and  abetting  him  to  seek 
and  find  it.  But  if  they  had  stayed  long  enough 
— which  is  unlikely,  tor  your  philosophic  globe- 
trotter is  a  man  of  haste — to  mark  and  to  divine 
the  cause  of  the  change  that  came  over  him  as  he 
sat  down  upon  the  felled  tree- trunk  to  think,  the 
keynote  and  triumphantly  rounded  close  of  the 
anthem  would  have  been  lacking. 

Maybe  it  is  as  well.  There  is  little  record  now 
in  the  story  of  our  race  of  the  first  few  batches  of 
settlers  that  rotted  of  scurvy  or  were  scalped  or 
starved  or  frozen  over-sea  that  the  luscious  earth 

273  T 


DINKINBAR 

of  Virginia  and  the  cod-banks  and  the  strip  of 
hungry  coastline  away  to  the  north  o.  it  might  be 
won  as  a  heritage  for  the  Anglo-Saxon.  Sea- 
robbers  and  home-keeping  speculators,  with  great 
Elizabeth  at  their  head,  reap  in  our  history  the 
glory  of  founding  the  Republic  and  the  Dominion 
of  to-day.  And  rightly.  If  it  had  been  our 
habit  to  glorify  the  Martyrs  of  Empire — even 
though  it  is  true  that  they  outnumber  the  Makers 
by  twenty  to  one — it  would  not  be  ours  to  boast 
that  the  dawn  is  cursed  to-day  in  English  all 
round  the  world  unceasingly.  In  like  manner,  if 
some  young  Homer  were  to  rise  and  sing  of  the 
warped  and  withered  lives  of  English  men  and 
women  now — of  the  University  men  that  are 
grain-growing  in  the  Canadian  North- West ;  of 
the  deluded  clerks  and  counter-jumpers  that  have 
embarked  in  honey,  fruit,  or  poultry  in  New 
Zealand ;  of  the  sons  of  gentlemen  that  have 
gone  and  are  going  to  scatteration  in  Australia 
over  wine,  women,  cattle,  and  quartz-reefs — God 
forbid  !  Let  the  Laureate  of  our  colonial  wastrels 
only  rise  and  sing  ;  and  our  Colonies,  being 
docked  of  the  home  supply  of  fancy-fed  inex- 
perience, will  depart  from  us  at  once  and  for  ever- 
more. Let  us  cling  to  our  national  ideals,  and 
let  good  fortune  be  the  gauge  of  merit.  Let  us 
build  no  monuments  to  unsuccess, 

274 


MARTYRS    OF    EMPIRE 

The  ways  of  that  blind,  inexorable  abstraction 
called  Providence,  when  it  sets  about  the  business 
of  peopling  the  waste  areas  of  the  world,  are  the 
same,  no  doubt,  as  those  pursued  by  it  in  places 
where  the  tare-infested  crop  called  civilisation  has 
been  sown  and  garnered  through  many  seasons 
of  the  life  of  man.  It  is  certain,  at  all  events,  that 
Providence  is  just  as  catholic  in  the  wilderness  as 
in  the  town  as  to  the  choice  of  instruments  to 
work  to  its  appointed  ends  ;  and  it  is  just  as  sure 
in  the  one  as  in  the  other  that  the  ill-adapted 
will,  with  sublime  indifference  to  personal  feelings, 
be  broken  on  some  invisible  knee  and  cast  upon 
the  refuse-heap  of  the  unfit. 

The  common  fate  of  the  pioneer  is  to  sow  that 
others  may  reap  ;  it  is  a  ruling  of  Providence  that 
the  bulk  of  the  men  who  force  the  idle  acres  into 
fruitfulness  must  stand  aside  to  see  the  reward 
of  their  labour  given  into  other  hands.  It  would 
seem,  in  the  race  for  the  successful  occupation  of 
new  lands,  that  the  stronger  must  go  to  the  wall 
and  the  laggard  win. 

Your  pioneer,  in  order  that  he  may  endure  in 
his  isolation  until  the  slow-creeping  tide  of  settle- 
ment shall  overtake  him,  must  be  re-fashioned  to 
suit  the  needs  of  his  new  conditions  ;  and  if,  as  is 
likely  enough,  he  is  a  man  of  spirit  in  whom  the 
traditions  of  his  kith  and  kind  are  stubborn  and 

275 


DINKINBAR 

unyielding,  he  is  apt  to  be  broken  in  the  re- 
making. 

So  long  as  the  axeman  on  the  pine-ridge  swung 
his  axe  and  sent  the  fragrant  chips  flying,  he  fitted 
aptly  into  the  picture  of  frontier  life  of  the  un- 
adventurous  order  that  was  round  about  him. 
It  was  when  he  sat  down  upon  the  felled  tree- 
trunk,  hunched  up,  with  his  hands  drooping 
between  his  knees  and  his  whole  face  and  figure 
bespeaking  a  vague,  distressful  weariness,  that  he 
became  at  once  wholly  ill-assorted  with  his  sur- 
roundings. 

Bim,  the  cattle  dog,  when  the  tree  groaned  and 
tottered,  had  removed  himself  with  a  timely 
caution,  born  of  past  escapes,  well  beyond  reach 
of  danger.  When  the  pine  had  thundered  down, 
he  darted  in  to  make  an  examination  of  the 
wreckage  of  limbs  on  the  chance  of  finding  a 
stray  'possum.  Then  he  came  and  sat  before  his 
master  to  show  in  his  gold-brown  eyes  all  the 
dumb  depths  of  his  devoted  ignorance  and,  as 
only  brutes  can  show  to  certain  of  the  bitter 
moods  of  men,  a  sympathy  as  deep  as  sorrow. 

"You  incurable  idiot!"  Ned  Singleton  said, 
with  a  discordant  attempt  at  playfulness;  "you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  'possums  don't  live  in 
pine  trees." 

The  dog  drooped  his  ears  to  their  lowest,  and 

276 


MARTYRS    OF    EMPIRE 

gazed  his  gratitude  with  an  intensity  that  was 
almost  tragic.  The  man  suddenly  lowered  his 
head  and  brought  his  clenched  fists  to  his  temples 
with  an  anguished  exclamation.  "  What  is  it  ?  " 
he  said  many  times  in  desperate  whispers.  "  I 
must  think  it  all  out,  and  act — do  something,"  he 
said  resolutely  at  last,  lifting  his  head  and  setting 
his  beard  firmly  between  his  knuckles. 

The  man  who  sits  down  idle-handed  beside  his 
work  to  think  the  matter  out  is  in  a  bad  way, 
and  the  way  is  doubly  dangerous  when  the  work 
at  his  elbow  needs  strong  hands  and  a  sound 
body  for  its  execution.  Ned  Singleton,  as  he  sat 
there  on  the  fresh-hewn  pine-butt  with  his  chin  in 
his  hands,  staring  intensely  and  seeing  nothing, 
was  nowise  singular,  but  only  one  of  ten  thousand 
other  Englishmen  scattered  about  the  lonely  out- 
posts of  the  Empire,  some  of  whom,  the  clock 
round,  are  always  doing  much  the  same  thing  in 
much  the  same  way,  and  to  similar  ends. 

They  are  the  men  who  have  become  strangers 
to  the  old,  yet  cannot  take  on  with  the  new,  and 
are  halted  in  a  muddlesome  midway  of  lunar, 
airless  desolation  between  the  two.  They  are 
the  Rip  van  Winkles  of  the  world,  the  hatters 
of  Australia,  the  South  Sea  beachcombers,  the 
scrudds  of  a  lonely  corner  nearer  home.  Where 
his  fellows  abound,  the  lazy,  shy,  unsteadfast,  or 

277 


DINKINBAR 

too  fine-spun  man  may  suffer  spiritual  divorce 
from  his  fellows,  and  may  turn  laggard  in  life's 
race  because  it  is  not  worth  the  running,  may 
abandon  effort  because  of  the  seeming  hollowness 
of  all  achievement,  and  may  yet  be  merely  in- 
effectual and  comparatively  sane  of  mind  and 
sound  of  body  ;  these  become  the  songless  poets 
and  dumb  orators,  the  barren  Crichtons  and 
causeless  cranks  of  civilisation.  But  that  drying 
up  of  the  marrow  of  life,  that  spiritual  leprosy  of 
inanition,  that  wasting  of  the  tissues  which  no 
bodily  food  can  arrest,  that  canker  beyond  the 
reach  of  drugs  or  scalpel  which  doctors  call,  for 
want  of  a  vaguer  term,  pernicious  ancemia,  is  to 
be  found  in  its  finest  perfection  of  cruelty  when 
its  prime  contributing  cause  is  the  naked  solitude 
of  the  wilds. 

With-  the  riding  away  of  his  mate,  the  last  tie 
that  held  Ned  Singleton  from  descent  into  a  gulf 
of  creeping  madness  that  had  yawned  beneath  him 
these  many  weeks,  seemed  to  have  been  severed. 
The  man  who  is  touched  with  the  finger  of  soli- 
tude is  as  firm  in  the  grip  of  unreal  horrors  as  a 
nightmare-ridden  sleeper.  This  one  sat  like  a 
tired  horse  in  a  leaden  sloth  of  body  and  limb ; 
but  in  his  head  there  was  an  impetuous  and  un- 
natural hurry,  as  though  an  engine  in  his  brain 
had  lost  its  fly-wheel.     And  yet  there  was  a  fell 

278 


MARTYRS    OF    EMPIRE 

and  agonising  clearness  of  introspection.  His 
thoughts,  each  one  clean-cut  and  lucent,  like 
crystal  in  the  sun,  flung  his  attention,  with  a  dire 
inconsequence,  forth  and  back  from  heart  to  rim 
of  life,  and  back  and  forth  again.  The  irrecover- 
able past  stood  in  one  instant  stark  and  clear  before 
him;  in  the  next  he  felt  a  famished,  boyish  craving 
for  the  sights  and  sounds  of  tea-time  on  summer 
afternoons  at  home — thrushes  on  the  green  lawn, 
the  sly  song  of  the  kettle,  the  clean  savour  of 
muffins.  He  lived  all  his  life  again  in  a  flash,  saw 
himself  go  his  way,  taking  as  little  heed  of  his 
direction  as  water  takes  in  running  to  the  sea, 
until  his  road  forked  where  a  taut  wire  sang 
overhead  ;  he  looked  up  and  listened,  but  there 
was  only  the  featureless  sky  above  him,  and  he 
could  think  of  nothing  but  that  old  trick  of  his,  of 
watching,  as  he  dived  off  the  spring-board  into 
blue  water,  how  funnily  the  reflections  of  his  round 
face,  and  long,  pink  foreshortened  body  would  be 
scattered  about  the  surface  of  the  sea  before  he 
crashed  into  it. 

His  eyes  closed  at  last,  his  chin  sank,  and  as 
the  hands  slipped  up  and  backward  the  fingers 
pushed  the  hat  forward  till  the  neck  and  base  of 
the  skull  were  bare  to  the  torrid  sunlight. 

He  was  awakened  out  of  stupor  to  the  convic- 
tion  that  a  bar    of   hot    iron    had    been   passed 

279 


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DINKINBAR 

sores,  whereat  the  flies  were  busy,  all  cried  aloud 
of  a  body  long  given  over  to  uncleanliness  ;  the 
mazy  confusion  of  lines  and  furrows  about  the 
ochre-coloured  face  could  not  be  read,  when  found 
in  company  with  such  a  pair  of  eyes,  but  as  the 
record  of  a  career  of  irredeemable  vagrancy. 

Singleton  sat  propped  upon  his  hands,  and  could 
think  of  no  word  to  say  as  he  faced  his  weird, 
unceremonious  visitor.  In  spite  of  a  gripping 
pain  at  the  base  of  his  skull,  and  a  sense  of 
nakedness  about  the  top  of  his  head  as  though 
there  was  no  covering  to  his  brain,  his  wits 
were  keenly  alive,  and  he  noted  the  stranger's 
every  feature  with  a  minute  and  eager  faithfulness. 
He  knew  the  old  man  from  chance  descriptions  to 
be  a  fellow-pioneer  who  lived  beyond  the  western 
ranges,  amongst  a  horde  of  blacks,  in  brutish 
squalor,  the  life  of  an  outcast  white  man,  or  combo. 
He  was  wondering,  with  something  of  the  imper- 
sonal and  humorous  wonder  of  prostration,  if  fate 
could  by  any  chance  have  any  yet  bitterer  humili- 
ation in  store  for  him  than  to  confront  him  at  this 
moment  of  supreme  degradation  with  such  a  spec- 
tacle. He  had  taken  away  his  life,  because 
solitude  had  made  it  insupportable  ;  it  had  been 
given  back  to  him  that  he  might  see  what  it  meant 
to  grow  old  in  the  only  companionship  available 
for  him  now.      It  seemed  to  him  that  once  again 

282 


MARTYRS    OF    EMPIRE 

the  wire  buzzed  overhead,  and  that  he  stood  at  the 
parting  of  the  two  ways  that  lay  open  to  him  as  an 
outcast  of  the  Basalt  Country,  and  saw  now  to  the 
uttermost  end  of  that  one  marked  "  Comboism," 
even  as  he  had  before  seen  to  the  ends  of  that 
other  marked  "  Hatterdom,"  and  on  seeing  it  had 
put  a  pistol  to  his  head. 

The  visitor's  silence  endured  until  he  had 
laboriously  lighted  his  pipe,  and  had  filled  the  tent 
with  a  suffocating  quality  of  tobacco  smoke.  Sin- 
gleton found  himself  contending  with  a  hysterical 
impulse  to  relieve  the  tension  of  his  feelings  by 
shouting  "  Yahoo  !  "  in  the  old  man's  face. 

At  last  the  visitor  spoke,  with  a  dry  and  stum- 
bling utterance.  "  Seen  a  red  bull  your  way, 
branded  H  in  circle  near  rump,  my  brand  off 
ribs  ? "  he  said,  eyeing  Singleton  at  last  through 
the  haze  of  smoke. 

"  No." 

"  Nor  a  bumble-footed,  brown  blood  stallion, 
wall-eyed,  got  a  half-ha'p'ny  punched  out  er  the 
near  ear,  my  brand  off  shoulder,  and  a  kind  of 
saucepan  on  the  near  one  ? " 

Singleton  shook  his  head.  After  all,  he  noticed, 
the  sound  of  a  human  voice  and  the  simple  live- 
stock jargon  were  strangely  and  suddenly  welcome. 
The  visitor  swore  a  long  and  frightful  oath,  entirely 
harmonious  with  his  appearance. 

283 


DINKINBAR 

"  By  the  way,  what  is  your  brand,  and  who — my 
name's  Singleton." 

The  stone-grey  eyes  looked  full  into  Singleton's 
this  time,  and  there  was  an  odd  twitching  amongst 
the  wrinkles  about  them.  "  I  beg  your  pardon," 
the  stranger  said  in  a  new  voice  that  accentuated 
his  wildness;  "I'm  Desmond  of  Moona,  over  there." 
He  nodded  towards  the  west. 

Singleton  stared.  He  had  heard  of  this  neigh- 
bour hitherto,  under  the  guise  of  an  improper  nick- 
name only;  now  his  memory  was  busy.  "  The  Irish 
Desmonds  ?  "  he  almost  shouted. 

The  graceless  tatterdemalion  sniggered,  spat, 
and  swore  a  blood-curdling  oath;  but  when  he  said 
"There  are  no  others — except  impostors,"  it  was  a 
Lear  of  the  Back-blocks  that  spoke. 

It  was  the  young  man's  turn  now  to  look  away  ; 
the  deadlights  in  the  old  combo's  face  had  be- 
come  luminous  and  piercing.  "  I  potted  my  first 
rabbit,  sitting,"  Singleton  said,  with  his  eyes  on 
the  revolver,  "  from  behind  a  stone  fence,  on 
Taramoona,  in  Connemara,  O'Neil  Desmond's 
place." 

The  words  "  my  brother "  came  faintly  on  a 
half  sob  that  followed  another  fusillade  of  blas- 
phemy. 

Both  men  stared  at  the  revolver  as  it  lay  by 
Singleton's   outspread   fingers    in    the    sand.     A 

284 


MARTYRS    OF    EMPIRE 

huge  stock-whip  was  looped  on  Desmond's 
shoulder  ;  he  presently  reached  forth  the  whip- 
handle,  and  with  it  drew  the  revolver  over  to  him. 
He  carefully  punched  out  the  six  loaded  car- 
tridges into  the  palm  of  one  of  his  withered 
hands,  swearing  again  frightfully  when  he 
found  one  of  them  jammed  slightly.  He  held  this 
out  with  the  butt  towards  Singleton.  The  cap 
was  dinted  with  a  fresh  and  bright  depression, 
showing  where  the  hammer  had  struck  ineffec- 
tually upon  it. 

Singleton's  gaze  flitted  guiltily  to  and  fro,  but 
always  returned  to  the  grey  eyes,  now  keen  and 
steady  behind  the  tell-tale  cartridge  ;  he  pressed 
a  hand  on  the  top  of  his  head,  but  he  stammered 
out,  "I  fired  at — at  a  d-d-dingo.  Been 
worrying  at    the  ration-bags." 

"  You're  a liar,"  Desmond  said,  with  em- 
phatic conviction. 

"  I'd  a  touch  of  the  s-sun." 

"  Ah  " — Desmond  was  re-filling  the  chambers 

again — -"  so  had  I,  once.     My gun  missed  fire 

too.  Wish  to  Christ  it'd  gone  off."  He  faced 
round  and  emptied  the  revolver  into  a  tree-butt 
about  twenty  yards  away.  Not  one  cartridge 
missed  fire  ;  all  the  bullets  slapped  into  the  tree 
within  a  space  no  bigger  than  a  saucer ;  sounds  of 
snorting  and  a  clanging  of  bells  came  up  from  the 

285 


DINKINBAR 

creek  below,  telling  of  a  wild  but  brief  stampede 
amongst  the  horses. 

"  Got  any  more  cartridges  ?  '  Desmond  asked, 
wheeling  ferociously  upon  Singleton.  "  Out  with 
the lot." 

Singleton  rummaged  in  a  saddle-bag,  and 
humbly  handed  out  a  half-filled  box  marked 
"  Eley  Brothers."     These  Desmond  put  inside  his 

shirt.     "  Where's  that old  crow  of  a  mate  of 

yours — oh,  /know  Jerry  Walker." 

"  Back  in  a  month  ;  left  this  morning." 

"  Oh.  And  you  were  for  making  crows'-meat 
of  yourself  soon's  his  back  was  turned.      It's  a 

fine  country,  this."     Desmond  left  the  tent, 

and  took  a  Bushman's  observation  of  the  sun. 
"  It's  noon,"  he  said ;  "  boil  the  billy.  This  is 
my  camp,  young  fellow,  till  I  give  further  orders." 

Singleton  crept  out,  light-headed  still,  and  did 
as  he  was  told.  That  his  horror  of  repugnance 
toward  this  living  embodiment  of  all  that  was  dis- 
reputable  in  man  should  have  been  so  swiftly 
transformed,  through  the  random  striking  of  a 
common  note  of  memory,  into  a  healing  sense  of 
comfort,  till  he  found  himself  clinging  for  his  very 
life  with  a  long  unstirred  hopefulness  re-awakened 
in  him,  put  him  beyond  the  limits  of  amazement, 
and  set  him  in  that  passive  and  busy  concentra- 
tion upon  necessary  trifles   through   which  alone 

286 


MARTYRS    OF    EMPIRE 

contentment  is  attained  and  the  war  with  circum- 
stance conducted  to  a  successful  issue.  The  two 
men  ate  their  mid-day  meal  almost  in  silence  ; 
Desmond  made  occasional  inquiries,  studded  with 
rich  oaths,  as  to  the  founding  and  progress  of  the 
new  station,  and  Singleton  answered  them  in 
monosyllables.  In  the  afternoon  they  went  up  to 
the  pine-ridge  ;  the  younger  man  was  too  weak 
for  work,  and  he  sat  in  the  shade  while  the  elder 
gave  practical  illustration  of  the  art  of  log- 
splitting.  In  this  manner  they  founded  a  fellow- 
ship on  present  and  immediate  things,  and  by 
unnamed  consent  left  it  to  the  night  before  they 
started  upon  the  more  intricate  enterprise  of  an 
attempt  at  exchange  of  confidence. 

When  they  had  supped  and  it  had  grown  dark, 
they  still  sat  long,  staring  in  silence  into  the 
crimson  embers  of  the  camp-fire.  Somewhere  on 
the  black  shoulder  of  the  ridge  a  wide-throated 
bird  communed  with  the  night  by  calling 
solemnly,  with  tragic  inappropriateness,  "  Hot 
pork,  hot  pork";  the  hasty  "cheep-cheep"  of  a 
locust  would  cause  the  ear  to  jump  and  then 
strain,  dreading  unearthly  alarms ;  the  hollow 
tapping  of  the  horse-bells,  near  and  far,  seemed 
to  deepen  rather  than  to  break  the  huge  silence 
of  the  earth. 

Low  down  in  the  north-western  heaven  a  few 

287 


DINK1NBAR 

stars  glowed  in  a  perfect  arc.  Desmond  followed 
the  radiant  curve  with  a  knotty  forefinger,  and 
pulled  sternly  at  his  pipe  till  in  the  furnace-light 
of  the  tobacco  his  face  showed  dusky  crimson. 
"God  help  us,"  he  said,  without  an  oath,  "  it's  the. 
Great  Bear ;  the  stars  that  shine  on  Connemara." 
And  at  that  the  two  men  became  as  garrulous  as 
schoolboys. 


288 


CHAPTER    XVIII 
At    the    Cross-Roads    Again 

TEN  days  had  gone  by  in  the  Pioneers'  camp. 
Desmond  was  still  a  visitor,  and  the  two 
men  who  had  thus  been  flung  together  in  a  far 
corner  of  the  earth  had  acted  and  re-acted  curi- 
ously upon  one  another. 

The  random  revival  of  a  common  tradition 
served  to  cast  them  into  a  sudden  unity  ;  it  was  a 
meeting  of  extremes,  of  the  promise  and  the  fulfil- 
ment of  two  careers  cut  off  from  their  native 
surroundings  and  running  on  the  lines  of  least 
resistance  to  strange  ends — a  study  in  the  first 
and  the  finished  product  of  the  lives  wasted  in 
the  process  of  reclamation  of  new  lands  from 
savagery. 

The  consciousness  in  each  of  the  other's  state 
was  fragmentary  and  vague,  and  they  drew  to- 
wards such  a  measure  of  mutual  esteem  and 
understanding  as  was  possible  to  them  by  a  plen- 
tiful redundancy  and  indirectness  of  speech  ;  any 
conscious  attempts  at  frankness  invariably  caused 

289  u 


DINKINBAR 

in  Desmond  a  return  of  his  look  of  dumb,  irre- 
claimable barbarity.  Left  to  himself,  or  encour- 
aged in  his  garrulity  by  blunt  and  apparently 
unheeding  response  on  Singleton's  part,  the  old 
man  would  utter,  as  he  strove  with  rusty  speech 
to  follow  his  re-awakened  memories,  uncouth  frag- 
ments of  self-revelation,  warning,  and  vague  re- 
gret. But  it  was  the  outward  manifestations  of 
Desmond's  attempts  to  raise  the  ghost  of  his  lost 
respectability  that  did  the  most  service  in  turning 
Singleton's  loathing  of  him,  first  to  tolerance,  and 
later  to  a  sorrowful  liking.  To  see  Desmond 
toilsomely  combing  out  the  knots  in  his  beard, 
while  he  chirped  in  his  withered  voice  of  holiday 
pranks  on  the  craggy  hillsides  of  Connemara  five- 
and-forty  years  ago,  was  a  sight  to  make  angels 
weep.  And  his  spasmodic  and  misty  striving 
after  tidiness  and  decorum  in  dress  and  habits 
was  so  pathetic  an  invocation  to  repentance  for 
wasted  years,  and  so  eloquent  a  plea  for  the 
saving  strength  of  opportunity,  that  it  worked  in 
Singleton  first  a  rage  of  pity,  and  then  a  dread 
conviction  that  the  old  age  of  unspeakable  desol- 
ation toward  which  he  himself  was  drifting  blind- 
fold had  risen  up  before  him  as  a  warning.  Time 
and  again,  till  his  better  purpose  was  poignantly 
re-awakened,  across  a  gulf  of  years  he  was  con- 
fronted with  this  apparition. 

290 


AT    THE    CROSS-ROADS    AGAIN 

It  was  a  strange  companionship  that  grew  out 
of  this  fortuitous  meeting  of  two  men,  one  of 
them  at  the  beginning,  the  other  near  the  end,  of 
a  life  of  alienation  from  their  kind  and  colour. 
When  or  how  it  was  to  end  Singleton  dared  not 
think,  and  the  question  of  Desmond's  departure 
was  shunned  by  both  alike  from  motives,  it 
seemed,  precisely  similar  and  wholly  opposite. 
As  they  were,  they  dwelt  in  an  isolation  as  com- 
plete as  though  they  had  been  cast  together  upon 
a  desert  island.  It  was  when  the  question  of 
their  future  relations  came,  always  in  a  round- 
about way,  to  be  approached,  that  Singleton  was 
made  aware  that  the  tie  between  them  was  slender 
and  dangerous.  To  sever  it  meant  that  he  was 
to  be  given  over  to  that  loneliness  which  he  knew 
to  be  unbearable — in  the  light  of  latter  days  he 
knew  now  that  he  would  either  end  it  with  his 
own  hand,  or  look  on  in  a  cold  horror  while  the 
fountain  of  his  life  dried  up.  To  extend  his 
familiarity  with  Desmond,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
to  take  up  the  burden  of  life  again,  but  with  his 
face  turned  once  and  for  all  from  his  own  people. 

The  elder  man  was  too  hardened  a  backslider, 
too  long  and  deeply  sunken  in  his  vagabondage,  to 
serve  as  counsellor  to  the  younger  man  ;  he  stood 
merely  as  a  warning  and  a  symbol  of  sloth.  The 
remorse   that   was  stirred  in    him    was  true,  but 

291 


DINKINBAR 

transient ;  in  a  few  days  it  lost  its  keenness, 
and  the  rooted  preference  of  long  habit  for  the 
squalor  of  his  combo  life  began  to  reassert  itself. 
The  change  of  temper  was  manifested  with  the 
same  ferocious  uncouthness  that  had  marked  the 
clumsy  and  circuitous  display  of  his  repentance. 
Paroxysms  of  senseless  wrath  at  a  horse  or  a 
beast,  or  at  inanimate  things,  had  been  common 
with  him  from  the  first,  and,  as  the  old  man's 
rage  lashed  him  into  exhaustion,  Singleton 
would  look  on  in  wretched  sympathy — he  had 
found  more  than  the  beginning  of  this  distemper 
in  himself.  Then,  later,  when  the  longing  for  a 
return  to  his  settled  habits  began  to  assert  itself 
imperiously,  Desmond  sought  to  justify  his  "going 

back  on  his civilisation,"  as  he  called  it,   by 

a  barbarian  and  relentless  sophistry  that  was  the 
very  anarchy  of  self-righteousness. 

On  this,  the  tenth  morning  after  his  arrival,  he 
had  brought  matters  to  such  a  pass  that  Singleton 
had  left  the  old  man  in  camp,  avowedly  to  ride 
round  and  put  back  the  cattle,  but  really  to  suffer 
in  that  agony  of  irresolution  which  the  man  who 
is  untuned  to  his  circumstances  calls  "  thinking 
the  matter  out." 

Desmond,  with  appalling  frankness,  had  for  the 
first  time  plunged  into  a  precise  description  of  his 
domestic  arrangements  at  Moona,  which  he  de- 

292 


AT    THE    CROSS-ROADS    AGAIN 

clared  must  by  now,  owing  to  his  protracted 
absence,  be  in  a  state  of  lamentable  disorganisa- 
tion. 

What  Singleton  heard  and  saw  in  Desmond's 
ferocious  glee  at  the  prospect  of  a  reunion  with 
his  household  was  the  old  age  of  lust — the  reality 
of  the  poet's  dream  of  a  life  given  over  to  lotus- 
eating. 

When  the  old  reprobate,  sitting  on  the  ground 
and  hugging  his  knees,  let  his  recital  run  on  to  a 
ribald  exhortation  to  his  hearer  to  come  away 
with  him  and  learn  how  to  live  the  only  life  that, 
after  all,  was  open  to  a  gentleman — "  Yes,  by  — a 
gentleman  " — who  had  the  misfortune  to  find  him- 
self alone  in  the  Back-blocks,  Singleton,  seizing 
bridle  and  saddle,  said  he  would  be  back  in  an 
hour,  and  fled. 

He  caught  and  saddled  a  horse  by  the  creek, 
and  followed  the  stream  upward  as  far  as  there 
were  any  signs  of  cattle-tracks  ;  then  he  struck 
out  to  the  west,  across  the  rich,  open  country. 
For  a  while  he  was  absorbed  in  the  work  of 
watching  for  tracks,  and  of  following  them  out- 
ward to  see  if  the  cattle  were  settling  down  con- 
tentedly in  their  new  pastures.  There  was  peace 
and  abundance  everywhere.  He  was  in  the 
tropics,  and  it  was  late  summer ;  yet  on  this 
high     table-land    the    air,    though    blood-warm, 

293 


DINKINBAR 

was  buoyant  and  clear.  His  course  led  him 
westward  through  the  sunny  pasture  till  he  was 
beyond  the  furthest  cattle- tracks,  and  perhaps 
three  miles  from  home.  Here  he  was  at  the 
beginning  of  the  tract  of  broken  country  that  lay 
between  him  and  Moona,  and  he  turned  and  rode 
to  the  south.  On  the  left  he  looked  across  the 
rich  spread  of  his  own  territory,  clothed  in  ripe 
pasture,  and  away  down  a  broad  vista  of  the 
black-boled,  grey-leaved  ironbarks  he  saw  where 
a  little  mob  of  cattle  was  dozing  in  the  shade. 
On  the  right,  the  ground  sloped  sharply  upward 
into  a  wilderness  of  hills,  waterless,  stony,  and 
crowded  with  lean,  harsh-coloured  scrub  that  in 
its  dour  solemnity  seemed  to  scowl  upon  the 
broad  face  of  the  pasture-land. 

As  Singleton  coasted  along  the  edges  of  the 
arid  foot-hills,  he  pulled  his  horse  up  suddenly, 
and  stared  for  an  instant  amazed  at  a  single  line 
of  hoof-prints  in  the  bare  ground — the  tracks  of 
a  ridden  horse,  clearly,  by  their  depth  and  even- 
ness. The  next  moment  he  looked  vaguely  above 
and  about  him. 

"  I  forgot,"  he  said,  addressing  the  dog,  who 
had  withdrawn  to  a  patch  of  shade,  where  he  sat 
and  panted  luxuriously  with  half-closed  eyes;  "it's 
Desmond's  track,  where  he  rode  into  my  life  ; 
and  that's  the  way  " — he  nodded  sideways  toward 

294 


AT    THE    CROSS-ROADS    AGAIN 

the  wilderness  of  scrub — "  that  1  can  ride  out  of 
it,  into  his.  To  the  west,  savagery  ;  to  the  east, 
solitude,  for  good  old  Jerry's  neither  the  sort  nor 
the  sex  to  make  company,  even  though  there's 
two  of  us.  To  the  south  ?  Ah,  that  road's  closed 
for  one  reason  and  another — permanently.  Let's 
spin  a  ha'p'ny  at  the  cross  -  roads,  shall  we, 
Bimulus  ?" 

He  rode  on  along  the  foot  of  the  desolate,  scrubby 
hills.     The  border-line  between  the  pasture-land 
to   his  left    and    the    wilderness   of    the    ranges 
was   sharply  drawn.     At  one  moment   the  horse 
would  be   knee-deep  in   the  golden  grass,  where 
it  curved    in    a    broad    bay  towards   the    rising 
ground ;    at  the  next,    as    he    crossed    the   foot 
of  an   arid   promontory  of   the    hills,    his    hoofs 
were  on  bare  and   stony  ground,   and  the  harsh 
leaves     of    the    scrub    brushed    the  horseman's 
shoulder.     The    pasture,    the    live-stock,    and    all 
the  beginnings  of  a    thriving  cattle-station    over 
there  by  the  running  creek,  stood  with  Singleton 
for  the  path  of  duty — the  road,  maybe,  in   time, 
to  fortune.      And    the    very    thought    of    it    ap- 
palled him.     The  dumb  madness   of  the  solitude 
till   his  mate  returned,  and,  if  he  survived   that, 
the  desperate  hopelessness  that   this  wild   unrest 
in  him  would  be  ever  tamed   to  that  withered, 
mild  content  that  brooded  in  the  well-nigh  vacant 

295 


DINKINBAR 

mind  of  good  old  Jerry  Walker,  like  serene 
autumn  sunshine!  He  had  murdered  all  his 
better  parts,  and  their  ghosts  would  dog  him  to 
the  end.  No  ;  where  duty  lay,  there  was  death 
also  ;  death  by  the  creeping  sickness  of  inanition 

— the  leprosy  of  isolation — unless He  felt 

his  forehead  burn  in  shame  when  he  thought  of 
Desmond's  coming,  and  felt  that  even  the  be- 
fouled and  abandoned  combo,  arriving  at  such  a 
moment,  and  showing  even  such  a  faint  touch  of 
human  fellowship,  had  been  unspeakably  welcome. 

He  pulled  up  his  horse  and  looked  along 
the  line  of  the  scrubby  hills  where  they  rose  in 
their  dread  monotony  and  silence  against  the 
dazzling  blue.  Up  amongst  the  slopes  a  bird 
chattered,  and  was  still  again ;  the  notes  were 
shrill  and  raucous,  and  seemed  to  mock  pitilessly. 
Singleton  dragged  his  horse's  head  angrily  till 
it  faced  again  towards  the  open  grass  country, 
and  struck  across  it  at  a  canter. 

For  a  while  mere  blackness  settled  down  upon 
him  when  he  thought  of  the  single  and  more 
than  desperate  alternative  that  lay  open  to  him 
as  an  escape  from  the  horrors  of  stagnation,  by 
opening  up  communication  across  the  western 
ranges  with  the  worse  than  outlawed  Desmond. 
Then  the  workman  in  him  was  re-awakened  for  a 
little  by  the  care  of  his  cattle  as  he  rode  in  a  de- 

296 


AT    THE    CROSS-ROADS    AGAIN 

vious  track  towards  the  creek  again,  following  up 
and  inspecting  the  outlying  mobs.  It  was  noon 
before  he  reached  the  water.  The  horse  plunged 
his  head  greedily  in  almost  up  to  the  eyes  ;  Bim  laid 
himself  out  full  length  in  a  bubbling  shallow  and 
lapped  luxuriously.  Singleton  crossed  the  nar- 
row, hurrying  stream,  and,  having  drunk  himself, 
he  threw  the  reins  upon  the  ground,  letting  the 
horse  nibble  round  him,  and  sat  down  against 
a  tree-trunk  in  the  shade. 

He  became  deeply  engrossed  in  pelting  with 
little  pieces  of  dry  earth  a  rugged  knob  of 
basalt  that  stood  up  in  the  middle  of  the  stream. 
The  point  where  he  had  struck  the  water  was  about 
a  mile  below  the  camp ;  the  bridle-track  that  led 
up  to  it  was  a  hundred  paces  off,  beyond  a  low 
ridge  that  rose  behind  him  where  he  sat.  Bim 
had  come  to  sit  beside  him,  and  was  gazing  in- 
tently up  the  ridge,  so  intently  that  Singleton 
turned  to  follow  the  dog's  look.  Nothing  was 
stirring  ;  the  slope  stared  blankly  upon  him  in 
the  flat  noonday  sun. 

"  No,  there  is  nothing — nothing — nothing," 
he  said,  and  with  the  last  word  he  flicked 
a  pellet  of  the  black  earth  at  the  dog.  It 
struck  Bim  upon  the  nose,  and  he  dropped 
his  ears  and  swept  his  tail  as  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  a  favour  received,  but  relaxed  nothing 

297 


DINKINBAR 

of  his  extreme  vigilance ;  he  even  growled  and 
gave  the  friendly  "  wuff "  that  in  dog's  language 
signifies  something  strange,  but  probably  not 
dangerous. 

Singleton  stood  up  and  signed  threateningly  to 
the  dog  to  get  behind  him  and  be  still.  Then 
he  went  up  the  slope  like  a  sharpshooter,  mak- 
ing for  a  big  tree  that  stood  upon  the  crest 
and  overlooked  the  hollow  beyond.  Before  he 
reached  it,  he  turned  and  shook  a  fist  at  the  dog 
by  way  of  caution,  and  signed  to  him  to  lie 
down.  Bim  crouched,  looking  humble  and  for- 
lorn. Singleton  gained  the  tree,  and,  taking  off 
his  hat,  looked  stealthily  round  the  trunk  so 
that  the  broad  hollow  came  slowly  into  view  from 
its  lower  end  upward.  His  heart  was  pounding 
vehemently,  but  there  was  only  to  be  seen  the 
faint  line  of  the  bridle-track  like  a  wavy  black 
ribbon  laid  among  the  yellow  grass  along  the 
centre  of  the  little  valley,  and  the  trees  with 
their  wide-flung,  twisted  arms  and  limp,  straight- 
hanging  leaves,  all  staring  and  shimmering  in  a 
blaze  of  sun.  There  was  nothing  more,  and 
Singleton,  when  the  infinitely  monotonous  pic- 
ture had  unfolded  itself  to  a  point  opposite 
his  look-out,  desisted  in  his  search,  laid  an  arm 
against  the  tree,  and  leaned  his  forehead  upon 
it     The  memory   of  a  morning   at    Dinkinbar, 

298 


AT    THE    CROSS-ROADS    AGAIN 

when  in  the  dim  dawn  he  had  watched  the  little 
garden  patch  unroll  its  wonders  beyond  the  win- 
dow-ledge, came  back  to  him.  It  was  that  morn- 
ing, he  told  himself  weakly,  that  had  fixed  those 
old,  useless  home  ties  upon  him,  to  the  destruction 
of  his  peace  and  the  ruin  of  his  "  colonial  career." 
He  hid  his  eyes  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  and  a 
sob  shook  him. 

Behind  him  the  dog  gave  another  "  wuff,"  and 
followed  it  by  a  woolly,  kindly  growl  and  small 
whistlings  in  his  nose.  Singleton  looked  round  ; 
Bim's  shaggy  coat  was  shivering  all  over  with 
excitement,  and  the  man,  in  answer  to  the  dog's 
earnestness,  muttered  listlessly,  "  There  must  be 
something  there,"  commenced  a  survey  of  the 
valley  from  the  upper  end,  and  passed  in  review 
another  blazing,  shimmering,  featureless  tract  of 
grass  and  trees  and  winding  bridle-track.  He 
thought  he  had  seen  the  whole  stretch  of  the 
hollow,  but,  to  make  sure  and  to  confound  the 
dog's  instinct,  he  thrust  his  head  far  round  the 
tree.  A  few  yards  had  remained  hidden,  and 
in  that  space  there  lay  a  bleached  log,  over- 
arched by  three  tall  saplings.  In  their  shade 
there  was  a  woman.  She  was  seated  on  the  log, 
and  in  her  left  hand,  resting  on  her  knee,  she 
held  the  bridle  of  a  venerable  grey  horse,  who 
dozed    above    her ;     with     her    right    she    was 

299 


DINKINBAR 

switching  uneasily  at   the   grass   with   a   riding- 
whip. 

Singleton,  terrified,  dragged  himself  back 
behind  the  tree,  and  sat  down.  He  stared 
amazed  and  open-mouthed  at  the  hurrying,  eddy- 
ing water  below  him,  the  browsing  horse,  the 
broad  sweep  of  yellow  pasture  where  a  file  of 
bright-skinned  cattle  were  now  drawing  in  to 
water,  and  at  the  deep  blue  line  of  the  western 
hills.  He  shook  his  fist  furiously  at  the  dog, 
but  the  brute  crept  up  to  him  and  lay  down  be- 
tween his  feet.  On  hands  and  knees,  Singleton 
crept  round  the  tree  again,  and  with  extreme  cau- 
tion stood  up  to  his  full  height  beside  it.  .  .  . 
Something  must  have  drawn  the  girl's  attention, 
for,  without  moving  otherwise,  she  ceased  her 
switching  and  turned  a  pale  and  very  solemn 
face  up  to  him.  For  an  immeasurable  time  they 
looked  at  one  another. 

On  the  girl's  right  there  was  a  small  bare  space 
of  ground  with  a  blunt  cone  in  its  centre.  The 
cone  was  seething  and  astir  with  a  multitude  of 
small  and  very  busy  creatures ;  they  swarmed 
about  it  in  an  angry  rabble,  and  the  disturbance 
was  spreading  outward  over  the  bare  ground 
about  the  eminence. 

Singleton  broke  the  strange  pause  by  signal- 
ling frantically,  and  shouting  at  the  full  strength 

300 


AT    THE    CROSS-ROADS    AGAIN 

of  his  lungs,  "  Mind  the  bulldogs,  Susie.  Jump 
up,  run — to  your  left,  as  hard  as  you  can.  That's 
it ;  now  here  to  me." 

The  two  were  forty  yards  apart.  The  girl 
started  to  her  feet  with  a  scream  and  dropped 
reins  and  whip,  but  did  as  she  was  told.  As  he 
shouted  his  last  words,  Ned  Singleton  ran  to 
meet  her,  holding  both  his  hands  before  him. 
They  ran  thus  till  only  two  paces  separated 
them  ;  then  they  pulled  up  suddenly,  and  looked 
shyly  at  one  another.  Bim  charged  down  and 
tore  round  about  and  between  the  two.  He  sub- 
sided when  the  girl  had  stooped  to  notice  him, 
then  backed  away  and  sat  down  to  bark  rap- 
turously. 

When  the  dog  had  grown  quiet,  the  silence 
between  the  two  was  drawn  out  into  a  pause  of 
wonderful  embarrassment. 

"  Where  are  these  bulldogs  ?  "  the  girl  said  at 
last,  and  the  words  rushed  out  so  vehemently  to 
break  the  transcendent  awkwardness  of  the  silence 
between  them  and  the  spell  that  held  their  eyes 
together,  that  it  sounded  like  a  challenge  of  bad 
faith  and  the  opening  of  a  quarrel.  They  both 
laughed. 

"  Bulldogs  ? — bulldog  ants,  the  biggest  and 
wickedest  in  the  country ;  look  !  "  He  pointed 
down   the   slope.      All    the   bare   earth    by    the 


301 


DINKINBAR 

log  was  seething  with  them  ;  they  swarmed  about 
the  place  where  her  feet  had  rested. 
She  shuddered.  "  Do  they  sting  ?  " 
"Like  hornets.  I'll  go  to  the  rescue  of  Darwin 
and  the  whip  ;  "  and  he  ran  down  the  slope.  He 
picked  up  the  whip,  and  woke  the  old  horse  out 
of  a  doze  by  rubbing  his  ears,  then  led  him  up 
to  the  girl.  She  was  standing  where  he  had  left 
her,  looking  frail  and  tired  now,  and  childishly 
helpless. 

For  one  instant  he  hung-  aloof  from  her  in  his 
wonderment,  with  a  touch  of  the  old  loutish  awe 
that  had  overwhelmed  him  at  his  first  sieht  of 
her  in  her  radiant  health  of  womanhood.  But 
now  on  this  her  second  miraculous  comine  out 
of  nowhere  into  his  life,  there  was  a  weakness 
about  her  and  a  forlornness  that  suddenly  gave 
back  to  him  his  lost  heritage  of  man's  initiative 
in  the  affairs  of  sex. 

"  You're  tired,  Susie.     You've  been  ill." 
She    nodded  many   times,   quickly,   looking  at 
the  ground  beside  his  feet,  and  her  chin  trembled. 
He  led  on  the  horse,  and  stood  beside  her. 

"Come  along,"  he  said,  "over  the  hill  and — 
not  far  away — to  the  water."  She  had  taken 
off  her  gloves;  she  slipped  a  long,  very  white  and 
thin  hand  on  his  bare  brown,  furry  arm,  and  went 
with   him  submissively.      "  No   explanations,"  he 

302 


AT    THE    CROSS-ROADS    AGAIN 

went  on.  "  Complete  rest — rest  and  quiet.  I 
understand — noth— everything.  I  was  expecting 
you.      Not  the  least  bit  surprised." 

He  broke  branches  and  laid  them  by  the  tree 
where  he  had  been  sitting.  She  sat  down  ;  he 
took  the  pannikin  from  his  saddle  and  brought 
her  water  from  the  creek.  She  handed  back 
the  tin,  and  looked  up  at  him  for  a  moment 
as  he  stood  thoughtfully  watching  the  horses 
make  friends  together,  while  he  gently  slapped 
his  open  hand  with  the  bottom  of  the  tin.  She 
moved  a  little,  making  room  for  him  on  the 
branches,  and  he  sat  down  beside  her,  leaving  a 
clear  space  between  them. 

"  What  did  you  think  when  you  met  them  and 
they  told  you ?     Oh  !  " 

She  had  tucked  in  her  feet  and  was  leaning 
against  the  tree  ;  he  was  sitting  forward  with  his 
hands  about  his  knees,  and  had  looked  round  at 
her  in  amaze.  "  /  meet  anybody  ?  "  he  said  ;  then 
he  pointed  to  the  blue  line  of  the  western  hills 
with  his  whip-handle.  "  I  came  from  over  there 
just  now." 

"  But  you  said  you  expected  me." 

"  Oh,  well,  Bim  was  sure  there  was  some  one 
over  there,  and  I  seemed  to  be  looking  for  you 
—that's  all." 

"  And  you  know  nothing  at  all  of  how  I  came, 
or  who  brought  me — or  anything  ?  " 

303 


DINKINBAR 

He  shook  his  head.  "  You're  here,"  he  said 
quietly,  knitting  his  hands  about  his  knees  again, 
and  staring  out  towards  the  hills.  "  You're  here, 
and  there's  neither  past  nor  to  come.  It's  just 
all  right,  I  don't  know  how,  though  everything 
was  in  such  an  impossible  muddle  five  minutes 
ago.      Does  it  seem  like  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  It  does,"  she  answered,  and  looked  at  the 
hills  too.  "  Nonsense,"  she  said  presently ;  "  this 
is  wasting  precious  time.  Aunt  Martha  or  Jerry 
will  be  back  soon,  and  I  must  tell  you " 

The  idyll  was  broken.  "  Aunt  Martha  ? — 
Jerry?"  he  said  slowly,  scowling  at  the  horizon 
now.  "Then  Jerry  went  to  Dinkinbar,  and  he 
brought  you  here  ?  "  he  said  glumly. 

She  made  a  weak  attempt  at  merriment.  "  Did 
you  think  I  came  in  a  fiery  chariot,  drawn  by 
Darwin  there  ?  " 

"  Jerry  went  to  Dinkinbar  ?  "  He  set  his 
elbows  on  his  knees  and  hid  his  face  from  her, 
framing-  it  in  his  hands  and  looking  at  the  ground. 

"  Ned  " — she  tried  to  speak  comfortably,  and 
came  a  little  closer  to  him.  She  had  seen  that 
lost  look  upon  his  face  before  he  hid  it.     "  Ned." 

He  would  not  look  up,  though  she  pulled 
gently  at  the  wrist  nearest  to  her.  She  gave  it 
another  little  shake  and  let  it  go.  She  took  a 
deep  breath,  looked  at  the  hand  that  hid  his  face, 

304 


AT    THE    CROSS-ROADS    AGAIN 

and  seemed  to  be  about  to  talk  vehemently  and 
in  haste  ;  but  instead  she  let  the  breath  go  out 
in  a  weak  sigh,  and,  folding  her  hands  in  her  lap, 
she  sank  back  wearily  against  the  tree. 

"  I'm  so  tired,"  she  said,  "  and  very,  very 
hungry." 

He  started  up  and  stood  above  her.  "  We'll 
go,"  he  said.  "  I  wish  there  was  some  one  here  to 
thrash  me,"  he  went  on  ferociously,  and  turned  away 
towards  the  horses.  He  brought  them  back  and 
tied  them  to  a  sapling  near  by.  "  Come " — 
holding  out  a  hand  to  her. 

She  looked  up  without  moving.  "  Where  ? " 
she  asked  languidly. 

"  To  the  camp,  of  course." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  anywhere  at  all,"  she  said, 
still  looking  up  impassively  at  him.  "  I've  come  to 
the  end  of  everything.  It's  been  just  one  disaster 
after  another  since  I  came  to  Dinkinbar.  No 
wonder  they  called  me  Featherhead  at  home.  I 
wonder  why  I  didn't  go  back  there.  And  now 
I've  come  on  this  last  perfectly  frantic  expedition 
— oh  yes,  it  was  my  doing,  I  believe — I  don't  the 
least  know  why — you're  only  angry,  and  things 
are  in  a  more  desperate  mess  than  ever." 

"Angry  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  or  else  why  do  you  go  on  as  you 

do,  and  look  like — like " 

305  x 


DINKINBAR 

11  Like  a  savage  and  a  brute,  then,"  he  said 
roughly.     "  Like  an  outcast — a  leper — as   I  am, 

as  you    told   me.      There,    I    didn't    mean    that, 

Sit 
usie. 

She  sat  up,  flushed  and  angry.  "  Mean  what  ? 
I  told  you — told  you  what  ?  " 

"  The  truth."  He  was  looking  down  in  his 
clumsy  way  and  rubbing  the  ground  with  a  foot. 

"  What  truth — where — when  ?  " 

"  By  the  water-hole,  at  Dinkinbar." 

"  You  touchy,  sulky  bear,"  she  retorted,  laugh- 
ing up  at  him  and  shaking  her  head.  "  Look  at 
me.     Come,  what  was  it  ?  " 

He  looked  down  at  her.  "  The  night — the 
night  I  left." 

She  laughed  delightedly.  "  You  silly,  silly 
boy.  You  do  look  like  the  Ned  I  knew  once, 
though,  now."  She  had  laid  her  head  critically 
to  one  side.  "  The  night  you  left,  and  for  ages 
and  ages  since,  I  was  ill,  and  it's  all  gone — all.  I 
remember  something  about  our  first  real  afternoon 
tea  on  Dinkinbar,  but  nothing  since  until  just  the 
other  day." 

"  And  what  did  they  tell  you  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  home,  and  they  said  something 
about  you  disappearing  with  some  notions  of  duty 
and  about  making  a  start  for  yourself,  and  some- 
thing about  a  quarrel  with  Uncle  Joseph,  and  all 

306 


AT    THE    CROSS-ROADS    AGAIN 

that.  /  thought  it  was  inconsiderate  of  you,  to 
say  the  least  of  it,  to  ride  off  and  leave  me  in  the 
jaws  of  death." 

"  I  didn't,  Susie,  I  didn't." 

"  No,  no,  I  know."  She  put  her  hands  to  her 
head  in  a  bewildered  way. 

"  We  must  go,"  he  said  firmly ;  but  he  began  to 
pace  to  and  fro  in  front  of  her  as  she  sat  limply, 
gazing  at  her  idle  hands.  His  eyes  travelled 
continually  from  the  hazy  blue  line  of  the  hills  to 
the  figure  of  the  girl.  At  last  he  stopped  before 
her.  "  Sweekie,"  he  said  gently.  She  looked  up 
quickly  at  him.      "  Why  did  you  come  ?  " 

She  stooped  lower  still,  completely  hiding 
her  face  from  him.  "He  said — Jerry  said — you 
were — I  thought  I'd  like  to  see  you  before  I — go 
away  home."  She  tried  to  go  on,  but  the  words 
died  away  in  whispers. 

"  Come  along,"  he  said,  holding  out  a  hand  to 
her ;  but  she  did  not  see  it,  and  tried  to  rise 
without  his  help.  She  was  cramped  and  weak, 
and  when  half  risen  she  stumbled  backward 
towards  the  tree  with  a  little  moan. 

He  flung  down  his  whip  and  caught  her,  so 
that  her  head  swayed  backward,  narrowly  missing 
the  tree.  For  just  an  instant  as  she  gathered  her 
feet  beneath  her,  the  eyes  looked  up  into  his  ;  he 
saw  the  tired,  sweet  mouth,  the  line  of  little  teeth, 

307 


DINKINBAR 

and  felt  the  weight  of  the  warm,  weak  body  in 
his  arms  and  her  breath  in  his  face  and  his  dour, 
hard  indecision  vanished.  The  next  moment  she 
was  sobbing  heartily  on  his  neck. 

"  Between  old  friends,  it's  allowable,"  he  said 
as  he  stroked  her  hair. 

It  is  an  odd  thing  that,  although  the  solitary 
traveller  finds  the  path  of  life  so  exceeding  strait 
and  so  closely  hedged  about  on  either  hand  with 
mystery  and  horror,  yet  when  two  go  abreast 
there  is  ample  room,  and  much  of  the  horror 
fades,  and  much  of  the  mystery  is  made  plain. 
These  two  seemed  to  find  everything  absurdly 
simple  and  satisfactory,  though  they  made  it  as 
clear  as  abundant  iteration  could  that  they  had 
merely  joined  together  the  broken  ends  of  an  old 
boy-and-girl  friendship,  and  were  soon  to  part. 

Soon  they  were  riding  slowly  towards  the  camp ; 
half-way  there,  they  met  Aunt  Martha  hurrying 
towards  them.  She  pulled  up  her  horse  while 
they  were  still  far  off,  and  sat  awaiting  them.  By 
the  time  they  had  drawn  near,  Mrs.  Heyrick 
seemed  to  have  gathered  from  a  steady  con- 
templation of  them  that  the  cruder  and  plainer 
elements  of  the  new  situation  demanded  all 
her  housewifely  energy,  and  that  the  vaguer 
and  subtler  things  could  take  care  of  themselves. 
Accordingly,  she  gave  Ned  a  dry,  almost  blunt, 

308 


AT    THE    CROSS-ROADS    AGAIN 

and  quite  conventional  greeting,  and  opened  on 
him  at  once  with  stern  upbraidings  as  to  the 
abysmal  untidiness  of  the  camp.  "  And  who's 
the  dirty,  wild  old  man  we  found  there  in  place 
of  you  ?  " 

Ned  whistled.  "  I'd  forgotten  him.  It's  only 
a  later  edition  of  me  as  the  pioneer,  Aunt 
Martha." 

"  God  forbid,"  she  said  earnestly. 

"  Amen  ;  but  what  in  the  world  are  we  going 
to  do  with  him  ?  " 

When  they  reached  the  camp,  that  question 
was  settled,  for  old  Jerry  was  watching  the  re- 
treating Desmond  as  he  rode  slowly  away  among 
the  yellow  grass  beyond  the  creek. 

Singleton  drove   his  own  horse  half  down  the 

o 

slope,  and  called  to  the  old  man  again  and  again  ; 
but  Desmond  would  not  turn  his  head  or  stop. 
He  waved  his  hand  once  in  a  wearyful  way,  and 
rode  on  to  the  westward. 

Singleton  looked  long  after  him,  and  was  full 
of  a  wild  sorrow,  a  nameless  horrible  regret,  until 
he  turned  again  and  looked  up  the  slope.  Jerry 
was  looking  down  at  him  ;  and  behind  him  he 
could  see  the  women,  merry  and  busy  about  the 
bark  table,  setting  out  the  rough  accessories  for 
the  mid- day  meal. 

"  The   cross-roads   again,"    Singleton    said   to 

309 


D1NKINBAR 

himself,  and  he  looked  above  him,  as  by  long 
habit,  for  a  singing  wire  ;  "  but  the  way  back  is 
open  now.  There,  without  the  grace  of  God, 
would  I  have  ridden — or  stayed  ?  I  do  not 
know." 

He  came  up  to  old  Jerry,  and  punched  him 
softly  in  the  chest.  "  You  tinker,  what  about  the 
Lands  Office  ? " 

Jerry  beamed  his  most  benevolent  old  smile. 
"  It'll  keep,  me  lad  ;  t'other  business  was  urgent." 


310 


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THE  MAN 
WHO  WAS  GOOD 

BY 
LEONARD    MERRICK 

AUTHOR    OF 

««  A  Daughter  of  the  Philistiees, ' »     "  One  Man's  Views. »• 

¥  ¥ 

"  A  second  success An  exceptionally  able 

novel." — Literary  Review. 

"  Remarkable  for  its  splendid  delineation  of 
character,  its  workmanship  and  natural  arrangement 
of  plot."— Chicago  Daily  News. 

"  Has  distinction  of  style  and  character,  dramatic 
force  and  literary  effectiveness." — Phila.  Press. 

"  An  intensely  dramatic  story,  and  written  with 
force  and  precision." — New  York  Times. 

"  Mr.  Merrick's  work  is  of  a  very  high  quality. 
Is  the  most  masterly  of  his  three  books."— Chicago 
Tribune. 

"  The  delicacy  of  the  character  sketching  has  a 
brilliancy  and  fascination  strangely  magnetic." — 
Minneapolis  Tribune. 

"Isa  forceful,  dramatic  and  altogether  human 
story  of  English  life. '  '—Boston  Times. 

"  Strong  story." — Chicago  Record. 

"It  is  useless  to  say  that  so  strong,  so  fierce  a 
book  must  be  written  well. "— Chicago  Titnes- 
Herald.  

NEW    YORK 

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THE  DAGGER 

AND  THE  CROSS 

BY 

JOSEPH   HATTON 

Author  of  "  By  Order  of  the  Czar." 

^*    ti9*    ^* 

"  Mostidramatic  manner Deserves  to  rank 

well  up  in  current  fiction." — Minneapolis  Tribune. 

"Villainy  of  the  deepest  die,  heroism  of  the  high- 
est sort,  beauty  wronged  and  loug  suffering,  virtue 
finally  rewarded,  thrills  without  number." — St. 
Louis  Globe-Democrat. 

"  Clean  wholesome  story,  which  should  take 
prominent  place  in  current  fiction." — Chicago 
Record. 

"  Finely  conceived  and  finely  written." — Toledo 
Blade. 

"  This  is  his  masterpiece." — Buffalo  Express. 

"  The  chief  merit  is  the  account  of  the  Plague  in 

Eyam It  is  a  true  story  and  Eyam  is  a  real 

village. " — Boston  Journal. 

"  Weird  and  interesting  to  the  point  of  being 
absorbing.  The  only  way  to  get  the  story  is  to 
read  it."' — St.  Louis  Star. 

"Seventeenth  century  romance  steeped  in  the 
traditions  of  the  Church  and  of  the  times." — Detroit 
Journal. 

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